"I am about bidding adieu to Paris, having been detained here by its various fascinations much longer than I anticipated. I shall set out on Tuesday next, with three young Americans, to travel by post through Italy, so as to be in Rome before the termination of the Carnival. I can at least claim the merit of not having been idle during my sojourn in Paris, and the time has passed both agreeably and profitably. Though the _dulce_ has been the chief object of my search, the _utile_ has been found with it, and has not been altogether neglected, neither, as a separate aim. New sources of various information have opened themselves to my mind at every turn in this great and gay and ever-changing metropolis; and whether I hereafter resume the buskin, or play a more real part in the drama of life, I think I shall find my gleanings here of service to me. I have mingled with all ranks of people, from the monarch who wears 'the golden round and top of sovereignty,' down to the lowest of his subjects, 'In smoky cribs, Upon uneasy pallets stretching them.' "I have visited alike the perfumed chambers of the great and the poor abodes of the lowly, the institutions of science, literature, and the arts, the resorts of fashion, of folly, and of vice, and in all I have found something which not merely served to fill up the passing hour, but that furnished either substantial additions of knowledge or agreeable subjects of future meditation and discourse. Human nature, as modified by the different circumstances of life and fortune, presents an ample and diversified volume to her student in Paris: and in this bustling and glittering panorama, where everything seems most artificial, one who looks beneath the surface may learn much of the secret feelings, motives, passions, and genius of man. "The President's message still continues to be the theme of much conversation. In the saloons of the theatres, in the cafés and restaurants, and on the public promenades I frequently hear the name of General Jackson uttered by tongues that never before were troubled to syllable it, and which do not pronounce it 'trippingly,' according to Hamlet's advice, but twist it into various grotesque sounds. Passing through Ste. Pélagie the other day (a prison for debtors), I overheard one of the inmates of that abode discussing with great vehemence the question of indemnity. He held a newspaper in his hand, and, as I passed, exclaimed, '_La France ne devrait pas payer les vingt-cinq millions!_' A fellow-feeling, thought I, makes us wondrous kind. The anecdote of the porter, the soldier, and the debtor, in the 'Citizen of the World,' occurred to my mind.