PARISIAN CORRESPONDENCE. Rue Saint Dominique, Faubourg St. Germain, DEAR MELMOTH, Here we are safe and sound, and lodged in the most aristocratic quarter of Paris, at a much less price than we should pay for very paltry apartments in London. We arrived here only a few days ago; my wife and daughter all impatience to enjoy the gaieties of a Paris winter, and I, equally so, to inspect the superb works of art that may be freely visited here without the golden key so indispensible in England. We were installed in our apartments early in the day. I confess I could not help triumphing a little at my wife's being forced to acknowledge that for once I was a true prophet. She who, as you know, has never been twenty miles from our seat in Cornwall, and who, entre nous, has no small spice of John Bull's contempt for every thing that is not English, was firmly persuaded that we should find large rooms furnished in a tawdry style, with plenty of lookingglasses, sofas, and arm-chairs, but destitute of carpets and of many other things absolutely necessary for English comfort; and to crown all very dirty. I repeatedly assured her that she was mistaken; but in vain: my six months stay in Paris some years ago went for nothing. She was sure she was in the right, and she anticipated endless occasions for all her patience and forbearance. Nothing could exceed her astonishment when shewn into moderate-sized rooms, handsomely carpetted, fitted up in a tasteful but not shewy manner, and scrupulously clean. Even I was surprised, for the improvement in this respect is beyond what I could have conceived possible. We soon agreed about the price, and in a couple of hours were quite at home. I proposed that we should go to the theatre in the evening, my womankind readily assented, but both declared in the same breath that they had nothing fit to be seen in. “The deuce you have not!" cried I," and the pelisses and bonnets that you bought just before Christmas." "La, papa,” said Emily, "I dare say they would be quite old-fashioned here." "New-fashioned rather, child; for I believe your Mrs. Slopeskirt was not much indebted to Paris for her modes." "That's an additional reason, my dear," cried Mrs. Beagerly, “for our making purchases immediately. We shall want nothing at present but hats and mantles. Indeed it will be prudent not to order any thing else till we have consulted with some of those ladies to whom we have letters of introduction. As to the hats and mantles I know we can have them in Rue Vivienne. I remember that Miss Herbert told me it was the best place for both, and she ought to know, for she spent six weeks here last winter." I saw by Mrs. B—'s air that this was one of the few occasions in which she assumed the supreme power; so without more gainsaying I attended her and Emily to the Rue Vivienne, where they soon equipped themselves in Manteaux Montespans, and Chapeaux a la Rosine, and a la Malibran. I confess I thought that there was some mistake in the choice of the hats, for it seemed to me, that the one my wife took would have suited my daughter better, and vice versa; but as both the ladies and the milliner were of a different opinion, and as the latter strengthened her argument by declaring that the hat was not only extremely becoming to Madame, but was also tres distingue, I was glad to hold my tongue. I must not forget to add that I have given you the names of Mrs. B's purchases, by her desire, for the information of your sisters, to whom she will be very happy to forward similar ones in the course of the next fortnight, if they wish it, as we have a friend going over. This important affair settled, the next question was what theatre we should go to, and you will smile when I tell you it was the Odeon, where an English company is now performing, under the management of Miss Smithson. The house was crowded, the audience seemed nearly all French of the highest class. The piece went off with great spirit, the acting in general was good, and I must say that of the fair manageress surprised me. I don't know how to account for it, but Miss Smithson at the Odeon is quite a different person to Miss Smithson on the London boards. Whether the consciousness that she has been always undervalued in England paralyzes her energies I know not; but it is certain there is a grace, an originality, and a sensibility in her performance here which she never displayed in London. She looks as young and handsome as she did a dozen years ago. She is a very great favourite with the Parisian public, and on her first arrival seven or eight years back was quite idolized by them She has refused, if report says true, more than one very advantageous offer of marriage from French gentlemen. Your old friend, Sutton, from whom we had this information, pointed out to us celebrated composer, M. Berlioz, who, though still in the prime of life, owes to the violent passion with which she inspired him all the appearance of premature old age. Nothing could be more romantic than the affair. His love for her nearly deprived him of his senses, he became pale and haggard, totally neglected his profession, and spent his whole time in haunting her footsteps. Whether she really was indifferent to him, or whether his vehemence was such as to frighten even a warmhearted Irishwoman, is not known. But whatever the cause was, she refused him in the most positive manner. During three years he strove in vain to soften the heart of his inexorable mistress, and his passion continued as ardent as ever. At the expiration of that time some conversation that he had with a friend respecting her had such an effect upon his mind, that he quitted Paris abruptly, and wandered in a state of delirium into the country. He was absent two days. His friends sought him in vain in all directions, even at the Morgue; for it was generally believed that he had committed suicide. In the middle of the second night he returned, looking more like a spectre than a human being. Fears were entertained for his intellects, for during some days he preserved the most obstinate silence. He afterwards acknowledged that he had wandered about for a whole day and part of a night, till he sank upon the ground utterly exhausted with fatigue, and fell into a death-like sleep, which lasted several hours. On waking from it he recommenced his wandering, and it was not till he found himself at the entrance of one of the barriers of Paris that his reason per fectly returned. Shortly afterwards he composed the Symphonie Fantastique, which has been received with the most enthusiastic applause at the Conservatoire. Never did music express more truly, more glowingly, the agonies of a despair. ing lover than this celebrated piece. What must the fair insensible, whose cruelty gave birth to it, have felt upon hearing it played for the first time! I had fifty things to say, but I must defer them till my next, for I have only time to assure you that I am, Dear Melmoth, Very truly yours, CHARLES B To George Melmoth, Esq. It seems P. S. I open my letter to tell you that you must not expect the mantles and hats we offered to send. they are those of last season, a discovery which has nearly thrown Mrs. B— into hysterics; and, as if that was not enough, the lady who gave her the agreeable information added, that nobody ever made purchases in the Rue Vivienne but the English and the Cadœuds-Cockneys of Paris. THERE IS A SMILE. There is a smile which often plays And when we see it light the eye, We think we see Contentment there : On the young leaf it seems to deck. BY THE AUTHOR OF "LETTERS FROM THE WEST," &c. [The Indian tribes who reside near the falls of Saint Anthony have a tradition of one of their females, who drowned herself in a fit of jealousy. Her husband, to whom she was tenderly attached, had, after their fashion, which permits a plurality of wives, introduced a second female into his wigwam, which so mortified the heroic woman, who had prided herself in being the sole possessor of his affections, that she calmly placed herself and her children in a canoe, and floated over the cataract, singing her death-song.] She launched her frail bark in the swift rolling stream, The bold eagle sprang from his perch at the sound, G |