This beautiful studio, one of the largest and most finely proportioned in Paris, with its greenish-gray walls, and plain green curtains to lofty windows that never let in daylight--the room being lighted entirely from the ceiling--has all its wood-work of dark oak, as are the book-case, tables, chairs, and other articles of furniture--richly carved, but otherwise of severe simplicity--distributed about the room. The walls are covered with paintings, sketches, casts, old armor, fishing-nets, rude baskets and pouches, poles, gnarled and twisted vine-branches, picturesque hats, cloaks, and sandals, collected by the artist in her wanderings among the peasants of various regions; nondescript draperies, bones and skins of animals, antlers and horns. The fine old book-case contains as many casts, skeletons, and curiosities as books, and is surrounded with as many busts, groups in plaster, shields, and other artistic booty, as its top can accommodate; and the great Gothic-looking stove at the upper end of the room is covered in the same way with little casts and bronzes. Paintings of all sizes, and in every stage of progress, are seen on easels at the lower end of the room, the artist always working at several at a time. Stands of port-folios and stacks of canvas line the sides of the studio; birds are chirping in cages of various dimensions, and a magnificent parrot eyes you suspiciously from the top of a lofty perch. Scattered over a floor as bright as waxing can make it, are skins of tigers, oxen, leopards, and foxes--the only species of floor-covering admitted by the artist into her workroom. “They give me ideas,” she says of these favorite appurtenances; “whereas the most costly and luxurious carpet is suggestive of nothing.” But the suggestion of picturesque associations is not the only service rendered by these spoils of the animal kingdom. One sultry Friday afternoon, one of her admirers, going earlier than her usual reception hour, found her lying fast asleep under the long table at the upper end of the studio, on her favorite skin, that of a magnificent ox, with stuffed head and spreading horns; her head resting lovingly on that of the animal. She had come in very tired from her weekly review of the classes at the School of Design, and had thrown herself down on the skin, under the shade of the table, to rest a few moments. There was so much natural grace and simplicity in her attitude, such innocence and peacefulness in her whole aspect, and so much of the startled child in her expression, as, roused by the opening and shutting of the door, she awoke and started to her feet, that the picture seemed as beautiful as any created by the pencil.