enter Paris, the old invalids tore down many of the flags which then hung there, and made a bonfire of them to prevent their being taken away. Now there might happen to be some of ours among those that were burned."

"I do not believe there was, though," exclaimed Charles; "if there had, those fine old fellows would have preserved them as scarce things, and brought them out at a proper time; just as King Charles's statue was preserved, and mounted again at Charing Cross. I have no doubt they would have rolled them carefully up, seeing they were never likely to get any more."

The whole party laughed heartily at poor Charles's determined patriotism, although the rain poured down in such torrents as they had never seen before. The streets became deserted; and when our party drove through the Champs Elysées, where neither horseman nor carriage could be seen, Mrs. Egerton observed, that everything looked much more melancholy than London ever looked.

"But surely, mamma, it is a very good

thing that people cannot dance and be so wild on a sabbath evening," said Emily. "I hope they will go to church, or stay at home and read, to night. To me, there is something quite awful in this rain; it puts one in mind of the deluge; and I think the people here must consider it as a restraining Providence."

But

"I fear not, my dear: they are used to it, you know; and it will not hinder them from crowding to theatres and coffee-houses. remember, Emily, they will not, therefore, get drunk, and beat their wives and children."

CHAPTER VIII.

AFTER the young party had visited the celebrated Corn Market, (Halle au Blé)— had seen all the finest fountains,-examined the Palais de Justice, formerly a king's palace, and entered various churches, - the kind father made an excursion to that most interest

ing place, the city of St. Denis, six miles distant from Paris. Here the kings of France, from the time of Dagobert, were interred in the beautiful Cathedral, which it was their object to examine. This sacred building was more despoiled, during the reign of anarchy, than any other; although it was considered singularly beautiful; a proof that love of the fine arts, even among a people who admire them most, will not preserve such objects from ruin, if a spirit of ferocity and cruelty take possession of the public mind. To such a degree did this system of spoliation prevail, that the remains of departed royalty were torn from their graves, to be made the playthings of children; and the dust of heroes, long regarded with veneration, was scattered to the wind. The sword of Charlemagne, the portrait and sword of the Maid of Orleans, the bronze chair of King Dagobert, and other relics long held sacred as curiosities of inestimable value, disappeared under the sacrilegious hands of a furiated mob; and will never be recovered.

Our party had the satisfaction of learning.

that these ravages had been repaired, so far as was possible; the restoration being one of the last works on which Buonaparte was engaged; and it was taken up by his successors, with more than their usual energy.

Emily, you know more about France than I do," said Charles; "can you tell me who built this fine church?"

"A christian lady, called Catullus, begged the bodies of the martyred St. Denis and his two companions from the executioner, and built a chapel over their remains. This chapel was so enriched by various monarchs, after the country became Christian, that the Cathedral, as it were, grew out of it; so, indeed, did the City, which, as you might observe, has several other churches. The two expiatory altars, one for the race of the Merovingian monarchs, the other for the descendants of Charlemagne, show how very ancient the church must be."

"I suppose," said Charles, "people are expected to pray for the dead at those altars! It appears to me very foolish to pray for those who are past help."

N

"That is a proof, Charles," said Mr. Egerton, "that you have hitherto escaped the pain of having those you love separated from you by death. I rather think, if I were to be taken from you, that your heart would gush out in many a natural expression of tender solicitude, which might be justly called prayer."

Charles did not reply: he had been so struck by the idea of his beloved father being subject to death, that his tongue clave to his mouth and he could only internally murmur, "Pray! aye, indeed, I should pray!" But Frederick observed,

"I believe, those bells are not rung now, till people are really gone?"

"They are not in general;" said Mr. Egerton; and the practice may therefore be termed a custom more honoured in the breach than in the observance, since the dead are not benefited, and the living are frequently annoyed. In remote parts of the country, and where population is scanty, the original intention is fulfilled, as I have myself witnessed. It was at once awful and