It has always seemed to me that the author of _Monsieur, Madame et Bébé_, pictured the Madeleine in his scenes of Madame at church; at all events I have often seen the like. She kneels on her velvet-covered _prie-Dieu_, and tells her beads; and then, between a _Pater Noster_ and a new batch of _Ave Marias_, she turns round to a neighbour, "Ah! chère madame, comment allez vous? et monsieur votre mari? Et la chère petite Bébé?" "Merci, chère baronne, mon mari ne va pas trop mal; il a la migraine, voilà tout. Et Bébé, c'est un ange; elle est ravissante, le petit chou. Mais moi, je souffre, oh, comme je souffre! je suis tellement éreintée que.... Je vous salue Marie, pleine de grâce.".... "How adorable is the Madeleine," said Dibden; but he meant its exterior at twilight, when the lights spring up on the neighbouring boulevards. And so it is in its way; but its way is to some of us not the most beautiful way. Many are the functions which take place there; marriages and funerals by the score. At the latter, it affords ample room under its portico for that terrible French custom which forces all the family of the deceased to stand by the door and receive the condolences of their friends and acquaintances. How do they ever survive it? And why do they not rebel against the conventionality, and give it up? Because they are at once the most conventional of nations, added to the most revolutionary. The funeral terror is greater in France that here at home; it is one of the few things in which we are ahead of our neighbours. We do not waste quite so much upon putting our friends underground, although we too are compelled to pay twice as much as we ought. But in some respects the French are far more decent. Men raise their hats at passing funerals, and I have never seen the undertakers sitting in the open car when returning from the cemetery; an indecent proceeding like the one immortalized in _Figaro_. "Mon Dieu! What strange people, ces Anglais! When they return from a funeral, the friends of the deceased ride upon the top of the hearse with their legs hanging over it!" One of the beauties of the Madeleine is the flower-garden at its feet, and the tree-planted boulevards which surround it. How pleasant it is to be able to sit down in the air upon a warm evening; would that we could do likewise! Here, sunset is the last moment when we can breathe the air of most of the parks, without perpetually tramping round and round upon our weary legs. But in Paris we may sit and gaze upon the buildings by moonlight if we like; and certainly, that is the most flattering time for the Madeleine. Its portico, lighted up by the moon with the dark shadows thrown behind it, has a decidedly grand appearance. SAINTE-MARGUERITE. The church, dedicated to _Mild Margarete, that was God's maid;_ _Maid Margarete, that was so meke and mild,_