98 
morning as ever shone, Exulting in 
his locomotive powers, he was pleased 
at seeing every other vessel lying a 
dead log upon the water, and carried 
us into Calais harbour before eleven. 
The transition from England to this 
place is as striking as it was twenty 
years ago: the same contrast of na- 
tional character prevails, though the 
intercourse between the countries must 
have increased indefinitely. 
At Beauvais we first heard the 
church service. The chaunt was as 
ancient as Tallis or John de Muris, 
and was performed, probably, more 
uncouthly than in those times, by three 
bawling men, who, with a serpent, 
made this magnificent pile resound 
with tremendous echoes, The height 
of the choir is pointed out to all tra- 
vellers: this was brought to our notice 
by pigeons, flying near the roof, ap- 
pearing no bigger than sparrows. 
Here was a magnificent organ at rest, 
giving place to a howling serpent, 
which I find is now common through- 
out France. Whether it is the want 
of taste, talent, or money, I know not, 
but these grand edifices serve no 
longer to augment the sublime effects 
of this noble instrument; but merely 
afford more ample scope for the 
priest to exhibit his absurd gesticu- 
lations. 
We traversed a most beautiful 
country to Paris, and crossed the 
Italian Boulevard at six in the even- 
ing. Whata sight! The whole popu- 
lation of Paris, out of doors, seated 
upon chairs beneath the dark shade of 
luxuriant trees, enjoying the open air. 
Go to the Tuilleries,—the Champs 
Elyseés,—_the Luxemburgh,—it is all 
the same. Every one has left his 
home; no one is left by himself; and 
Paris is the amusement of one large 
family. In whatever direction you 
move, nothing is seen but gaiety and 
pleasure. It is Sunday evening: in 
vain may you listen for the evening 
prayer bell; but the lively waltz is 
heard in every grove, and every 
breeze. 
The French have no natural taste 
for singing; you never hear it in the 
public gardens, either at Tivoli or the 
Beaujon. The language so’ distorts 
the vocal machine, that nothing fluent 
or graceful can possibly be uttered. 
Their sense of music seems to be more 
regulated by the foot than the heart. 
Their movements are light and airy, 
A Musical Amateur’s Trip to Paris. 
| Sept. 1, 
deriving their character from the elas- 
tic gaiety of the step. In the public 
gardens a great variety of amusements 
attract your attention, and to an Eng- 
lishman are extremely diverting. Men 
upon the backs of dragons, and ladies 
in the bodies of peacocks, driving at 
the ring; others, involved in nets, 
“swinging high in air.” Companies 
in the bodies of ships, which are made 
to rise and fall as upon the wave in 
their rotatory course. But these airy 
gambols are greatly surpassed by the 
terrific amusement of the Russian 
mountains at the Beaujon. A sort of 
castle, or tower of stone, is erected so 
high, that it forms a striking object in 
the environs of Paris. From the sum- 
mit are two inclined planes, which, 
right and left, have a rapid descent 
into the garden below, and upon 
which are placed small carriages, the 
wheels running in a groove of iron- 
work. You ascend by steps to the 
top of this edifice, where, for a franc, 
two of you are fastened in one of these 
cars, and pushed off the precipice with 
a velocity sufficient to carry you into 
another world.* At first the declivity 
is so steep, that the motion is painfully 
rapid; but, after one hundred yards, 
or more, you meet with a gradual as- 
cent, which destroys the velocity, 
and, by the aid of three or four men, 
you are whirled into a track of machi- 
nery, which draws you to the top, to 
repeat this dreadful exploit, and to 
descend on the other side. But the 
waltz,—the inspiring waltz,—is the 
staple article of the country. In the 
centre of every garden a good orches- 
tra is placed, so that the company can 
hear it in every part; and the chief 
amusement is that of couples gliding 
through the walks. 
The French national opera, which is 
called L’ Academie de Musique, is cer- 
tainly the most perfect exhibition in 
Paris. The band strikes every fo- 
reigner by its magnitude and power. 
There are thirty-six violins, eight 
violas, twelve violoncellos, eight con- 
tra-bassos, and sixteen wind instru- 
ments, led by the greatest performer 
of the age, M. Baillot. The very great 
excellency of this band is to be refer- 
* Lately, this was actnally the case. 
A wheel coming off, two persons were 
dashed to pieces; and, for a time, the 
gardens were closed by order of the 
government. 
red 
