Above is a representation of the column, with a view of the fine Rue de Castiglione.

Near the Place Vendome is the Hotel des Finances in the Rue de Rivoli. It is a vast edifice. A little further on is a large mansion, where Prince Talleyrand formerly lived. Before the revolution, it was the hotel of the Duchess de l'Infantado. After the death of Talleyrand, it was purchased by Baron Rothschild. In 1814 it was occupied by Alexander, Emperor of Russia.

Several of the churches of Paris are deserving particular notice. Their outsides are imposing, and inside they are adorned with carving, and pictures of the most gorgeous description. While in the above neighborhood, the visitor should by

no means miss the church St. Roch. It is one of the richest parish churches in Paris. The paintings that decorate its walls and ceiling are from the first artists. Many illustrious persons have been buried there. It contains the ashes of Pierre Corneille, Marshal d'Asfeld, the painter Trignard, the learned Maupertius and Marillac, the Abbot de l'Epée, the Cardinal Dubois, and several of the most celebrated dukes and counts of their times. It was from this church that the unfortunate Marie Antoinette was led to the scaffold, in 1793. It is here, also, that the principal pompous ceremonies are performed, such as musical masses, and celebrated wedding and funeral offices.

NYMPH of the laughing eye and sportive mien, In whose blithe smile exists a potent spell To charm the spirit of the moody spleen,

And from thy circle black fiend expel, Come, Cheerfulness, a in my bosom dwell! Me from disquieting emotions wean;

Teach me tones that, thrilling from thy shell,

Arouse the dormant joys of each dull scene;
The lighter ills of life-a countless train-

That in their bud the blooms of Pleasure blast!
That taint, on plenty's board, the sweet repast,
And wither Comfort with corrosive bane;
These ills in social scenes so thickly strown,
Where cheerfulness presides, are ills unknown.

COURTESY is a plant of slow growth. It requires care and attention, from the sowing of the seed to the reaping of the harvest. A kind heart and a good temper, though essential to its very existence, are not enough. A good soil and kindly influences are indispensable.

The seeds of politeness, as has already been shown, must be sown in the nursery. There the habit of true gentility is to be formed. But it is in society that this habit is to be confirmed. Made as man is for society, he readily adapts himself to the customs and manners of those with whom he daily mingles. Something is learned and acquired from every social circle of which he forms a part. Insensibly he catches the air, the tone, the spirit, the style of his associates, and makes them his own. It is not easy always to avoid it. Very often I have caught myself in the use of a peculiar accent, or intonation, or gesture, which, on reflection, I could refer to some particular speaker whom I had lately heard. This art of imitation is so common, and so easily practised, as to seem more like nature than art. It requires no effort of mind to perceive its use in the formation of habits of politeness and courtesy.

Into whatsoever society we enter, we seek either our own pleasure or the pleasure of others; in many cases both. We enter as individuals, to put ourselves under the influence of the many. In most cases, therefore, the influence of the many greatly exceeds that of the individual; especially in the case of the young, whose influence is yet to be gained and established. The consequence must be, that, in early life, if not in later years, we act less upon others than we are acted upon by them. We carry away with us greater modifications of our own mind and manners than we can possibly produce in others. We are more passive than active; we receive more than we communicate. Our morals and manners both are more or less affected; and we are either the better or the worse for such associations.

When going into society, it is natural for the young, as well as others, to desire approbation. To secure it, an effort is made to obtain the good opinion of our associates, by accommodating our

selves as much as we can to the peculiarities of the company. These peculiarities are, therefore, made our study. We accustom ourselves, from a very early period, to watch, and ascertain the views, opinions, prejudices, mode of thinking, speaking, and acting; the preferences and principles of our associates, or of those with whom we desire to associate. This study leads to assimilation. We strive to be as much like them as possible, and regard it as something greatly to be desired.

It has been well observed, by a distinguished writer-"We not only go into society unarmed, but we go with a preparation in favor of the action of the sentiments, and the agency of the minds of others which is then operating upon us. We go with the intention of being pleased with with the sympathies which that intercourse excites; and as we experience or expect social pleasure; we lay our hearts and minds open, as much as possible, to the full and entire action of the social instinct."

Such being the insensible process of assimilation, both as respects mind and manners, in every society into which we are introduced, it is perfectly evident, that too much attention, care, and caution cannot be exercised in the choice of one's associates. The influence which they will inevitably acquire and exert over us is tremendous. If you wish to be courteous, urbane, and polite, you must, with the utmost scrupulosity, abstain from all those social circles of an opposite character, which are found in almost every neighborhood.

The eagerness with which the young rush into company must be checked. It cannot and should not be wholly resisted. But it may be so regulated as to be productive of good rather than harm. The parent should exercise a wholesome restraint on the passions of the child; should know the character of the influences to which the child will be subjected in such associations; and not suffer the inexperienced youth to rush headlong and blindfold into the multiplied dangers of improper company.

But the responsibility rests not alone with the parent. You that are in the morning of life

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must learn to respect yourselves, and to act upon principle. You have received, it may be, an invitation to the house of a friend, to a party of pleasure. Your imagination is excited. You think only of the forms of beauty, and the scenes of pleasure that will greet you there. The smile, the song, the laugh, the jollity, the dance, the tasteful and savory viands, the soft words, the admiration, the conquest of hearts, these are the things that fascinate and beguile, as they fill you with fond anticipations of the joy to be experienced in the midst of such associates as will compose the pleasure-party. Animated by such considerations, you rush from one scene of merriment to another, week after week, and night after night. Your life is spent in a constant whirl of excitement, that you and others mistake for true happiness.

But in this eager rush for such gratification, you forget the sad and irresistible influence that will be exerted over you. You are there to be subjected to the action of a power that will bring your whole being more under its sway-your manners, your morals, your disposition, your whole heart and soul. On the question of accepting and complying with an invitation, such as I have named, may depend, to a great degree, your peace, your comfort, your character, your happiness in all subsequent life. You cannot give yourself up for hours, in a state of such excitement, to the influences of that social circle, and receive no lasting impression. Whether you will or not, you must be impressed with what you see and hear. You may be subjected there to an atmosphere that will greatly affect your manners, contaminate your principles, sour your temper, corrupt your heart, and make you the victim of folly all your days.

If, therefore, you desire to be courteous, agreeable, and polite; if you wish to be well-bred in the highest and best sense of the word, you will not only seek, in the experience of religion, to have a fountain of kindness within, but will also be careful to obtain access, if possible, to the best society in the sphere in which you move. If you cannot be admitted into good society, you had better not go into society at all. You had better form your own society, by gathering a little nucleus of choice friends, one or two of sterling worth, with whom you take sweet counsel together, and which may be enlarged as occasion offers.

When I say "the best society," I speak not of that which claims for itself this distinction. In almost every town and village throughout the land there is to be found a band of exclusives, who pride themselves on being the aristocracy of the place, and look with ineffable contempt on

the plebeians who are so unhappy as to be deprived of the privilege of their society. It is not of such that I speak, when I urge upon you to seek access to the best society. It is not in such circles always that good manners are to be learned. Very frequently, as I have already observed, there is far less of true refinement, and real suavity and excellence of manners there, than among those whom the ban of wealth and fashion proscribes.

It was the remark of Witherspoon, the distinguished President of Nassau Hall-"I think it a disadvantage to be bred too high, as well as too low. I do not desire, and have always declined, any opportunities given me of having my children reside long in families of high rank." It were well if others would learn wisdom from his example. In my intercourse with the higher classes, while in some cases I have experienced great pleasure, I have much oftener found a hollow-heartedness, artificialness, and superciliousness, cold and chilling, and the very opposite of real courtesy. Seldom have I found them exhibiting, in a kindly manner, that real kindness which wins and warms the soul. More frequently they exhibit such a want of true, genuine, and unaffected warm-heartedness, as to repel the ardent-minded, repress the gushing affections of the heart, and to deprive the social circle of all naturalness and real sympathy. Too often, as they themselves best know, the higher classes, as they are called, live in "a world without souls.”

While it is difficult to describe what may properly be regarded as the best society, we may, nevertheless, put the young on their guard against such circles as must injure and corrupt, and are therefore to be sedulously shunned. No one, who desires to move with freedom, grace, and propriety, in social life, should consent to associate with the ignorant, the vulgar, the immoral, the profane. They should shrink, as from an adder, at the presence of the lascivious and the sensual, the sceptical and the libertine. Such associations will poison the very fountains of decorum and civility, and sap the foundations of that virtue without which all manifestations of politeness are but hypocritical mockery. Little is to be learned in the circles of the novel-readers, the play-goers, and the devotees of fashion, but such false views of life, of respectability, and of happiness, as must unfit the mind for the proper pursuits of life.

The effect produced in us by the society to which we accustom ourselves, should be strictly watched. If we find that it is corrupting our principles, and injuring our temper, it should be shunned at once, and at any cost. Whatever may

be its attractions, its advantages may be purchased at too dear a rate. If you have no means of access to the society of the good, the intelligent, the refined, wait until a kind Providence opens the door. If you have such means, embrace them, and carefully profit by your advan tages. But, whatever means of access you may have to the fashionable circle, where the rules of etiquette and of courtly life are strictly observed, but where there is no respect for religion, the Bible, the Sabbath, the Author of our Faith; where there is, on the other hand, much irreverence or profanity, or the least filthiness of con

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versation, abjure it as you would the plague. You cannot enter there without danger of infection. If you cannot cultivate your manners, but at the expense of your morals, and perhaps of your eternal happiness, you had better be illbred all your days. Better to say, with the devout and accomplished author of the "Improvement of the Mind," a work that deserves the earnest study of all the young:

"Now I esteem their mirth and wine

Too dear to purchase with my blood;
Lord! 'tis enough that thou art mine,
My life, my portion, and my God."

nown.

THE Prince of Bearn was but fifteen years of age when he witnessed the first conflict in those wars in which he subsequently attained so much reFor the security of his person, deemed so precious to the Protestants, his friends, notwithstanding his entreaties and even his tears, would not allow him to expose himself to any of the peril of the conflict. Upon an eminence, which overlooked the field of battle, he stood, surrounded by a few faithful guards, and gazed with burning impatience upon the sanguinary scene spread out before him. The Protestants were utterly defeated, and their squadrons were trampled in the dust under the hoofs of the Catholic cavalry. The precocious boy, instantly and indignantly discerned the error of his friends, and gave earnest utterance to the sentiment, which posterity has confirmed, "With forces so scattered as were ours, it was folly to think of fighting an united army making an attack at one point."

The Protestants, though defeated, were unsubdued. The Queen of Navarre soon saw thousands of strong arms and brave hearts rallying around her banner, Accompanied by her son, she rode through their ranks and addressed them in words of feminine yet heroic eloquence, which roused their utmost enthusiasm. But few instances have been recorded in which human hearts have been more deeply moved than were these martial hosts by the brief sentences which dropped from the lips of this extraordinary woman. Henry, in the most solemn manner, pledged himself to consecrate all his energies to the defense of the Protestant religion, and to the maintenance of liberty of conscience. To each of the chiefs of the army she also presented a gold medal, suspended from a golden chain, with her own name and that of her son impressed upon one side, and on the other the words, "certain peace, complete victory or honorable death." The enthusiasm of the army was raised to the highest pitch, and the heroic queen became the object almost of the adoration of her soldiers.

Queen Catharine, seeing the effect produced upon the Protestant troops by the presence of the

Queen of Navarre, visited the head-quarters of her own army, hoping to inspire them with equal enthusiasm. She also, surrounded by her brilliantly accoutered generals, swept like a gorgeous vision before her troops. She distributed pres ents and addressed her army in high sounding phrase. She had talent, but she had no soul. She could not evoke one single electric spark of emotion. She had sense enough to perceive her signal failure, and to feel its mortification. No one either loved or respected Catharine. Thou sands hated her, yet, coveting her smiles or dreading her frown, bowed before her in adulation.

The two armies were soon again facing each other upon the field of battle. Again the Prince of Bearn, in defiance of all his remonstrances, was only permitted from a distant eminence to look down upon the field of strife. Again, almost frantic with excitement, impatience, and indignation, he pointed out the gross error in generalship which ruined the army, as he saw his own friends cut down like grass upon the plain. Again the indomitable Queen of Navarre, with the calm energy which so signalized her character, rallied the fugitives around her, and reanimated their waning courage by her own indomitable spirit. The tide of victory now turned. Conflict after conflict succeeded. Henry, absolutely refusing any longer to retire from the perils of the field, engaged with the utmost coolness, judgment, and yet impetuosity in all the toils and dangers of battle The Protestant cause rapidly gained strength The Catholics became disheartened. The queen mother was now convinced that the extermination of the Protestants by open force was no longer pos sible. Both parties being weary of blood, a truce was concluded. The treaty of peace, signed the 2d of August, 1570, granted the Protestants full liberty of conscience, the restitution of their confiscated estates, and the open exercise of their religious worship in the suburbs of two towns in each province. These were considered as very liberal terms to be granted to the reformers by the papal power. Even these concessions were, however, intended merely as a lure to lull the