The magnificent line of road terminated by the Arc de Triomphe was traversed by us repeatedly. We have nothing at all comparable with this elegant and gorgeous work of art in London. Our own " Marble Arch,” at the top of Oxford-street, must not be named in the same day with this beautiful Parisian structure.

Every day of our week in Paris was so fully taken up that we omitted to visit the cemetery of Père la Chaise, and some other of the lions. We returned every evening to our apartments so thoroughly knocked up, that we had no desire to venture out to see Paris by night; so that that phase of Parisian life must be reserved for some future visit.

We did not leave Paris without going to see Versailles. If Paris is France, no one would have a very intelligent idea of Paris who had not seen Versailles. It is indeed a palace; and a long day spent in wandering through its almost endless galleries and saloons gives one a better idea of the history of France than any work that I know of. You are reminded almost at every point by some gorgeous article of furniture, or some splendid picture by Vernet or Delaroche, of the great national events that have taken place in the history of the country; and there is an air of princely magnificence in everything you see around, both within and without, of that truly regal place.

The extensive gardens and pleasure-grounds are in keeping with the Palace, and it is altogether a place of which any nation may be justly proud. The only Palace in England that at all approaches it is that of Hampton Court; but the comparison is greatly in favour of Versailles, both in extent and in the variety and beauty of its

contents.

My impressions of the French people from what I saw of them are that they are a highly intelligent, active, quick, and responsive race. A glance at them will convince any one that they are a people that will continue to exert a great influence in the world. I was much struck

with the frank and cheerful appearance of most of the men; but there was a care-worn, anxious look about the women that indicated their need of what we understand in England by home influences. During the short time spent in Paris and its environs I only saw one really pretty woman. The ladies in France know far better than our own fair countrywomen how to blend the colours in their costume so as to make a plain woman elegant and attractive; but they are wanting in that womanliness that gives such a charm to an English face.

Let any one take a stroll through the fashionable boulevards and parks of Paris who has been accustomed to Kensington-gardens and Rotten-row, or Brighton during the season, and if he has an eye for the beautiful, the palm will be yielded to our countrywomen.

Whatever may have been said in praise of French beauties, I am prepared to say of the women of England—

"I deem the daughters of thy soil

Have greater share of beauty's spoil.
The clear blue eye, the ruddy lips,
The cheek where rose in lily dips.
The auburn locks that lightly throw
A shade upon the temple's snow.
The silver tones that sweetly tell
The love that in your bosoms dwell."

Frenchmen are perhaps more gallant than ourselves in their treatment of the opposite sex ; but women look more for strength and stability in men than for mere politeness, which after all may be only a covering for selfishness. I have seen a Frenchman almost overwhelm a lady near him with his attentions at dinner, but take care at the same time to keep the best parts of a cold fowl for himself.

The military have a very smart and soldier-like appearance, and for light service would, I have no doubt, fully bear out all that we have heard of their daring and dashing services in the field; but they contrast strangely with the firm and measured tread of our Coldstream Guards: and

one can easily imagine that though our neighbours over the way are not wanting in courage, they have neither the power of endurance, nor the immoveable firmness of our fellow-countrymen.

After spending a very pleasant week or ten days at Paris, and seeing St. Cloud, we left the gay city by an early train one morning for Strasbourg, en route to the Rhine. The Strasbourg Railway is one of the longest lines in France, the distance being about four hundred miles. We left the handsome terminus by the 7 A.M. train, and had a most delightful ride through some of the fairest provinces of France, where the scenery, produce, manners and character of the people differ considerably. To have looked at the lofty towers of Notre Dame in the morning, and find oneself gazing up at the magnificent spire of Strasbourg Cathedral in the evening of the same day is a luxury that kings could not have purchased a quarter of a century ago; but railways and locomotives have so altered distances that now it is an every day occurrence to see the sun rise on the banks of the Seine in the morning, and before its last beams are seen in the west you may find yourself quietly reposing on the banks of the lovely Rhine.

After resting for the night at Strasbourg, we spent the greater part of the next day in exploring the cathedral, with its wondrous clock and its complete astronomical almanack. The tower of the cathedral is nearly five hundred feet above the pavement, and is indeed a master-piece of architecture. As my companion, as well as myself, was interested in "the black art," we did not forget that Strasbourg claims the honour of using the first printing press by Gutenburg.

We made our way from Strasbourg to Frankfort, where we spent a day in seeing the principal objects of interest in this lively city. The Goethe monument is a worthy memorial of the greatest writer that Germany has produced; and one could not but look upon the house in

which the great child-like Goethe was born with something of the same interest that we attach to that in which our own great Shakespeare first saw the light. He was unquestionably one of the great lights of the world; but a "lesser light" than the bard of Avon. The walks and promenades about Frankfort are very picturesque and beautiful.

The next morning found us on our way to Mannheim, where we embarked on one of the Rhine boats, to see that far-famed river. As we went down the stream the voyage to Cologne was a very rapid one, and in the evening it seemed more like a fair vision than a reality, that we had beheld in one short day the unequalled scenery of that majestic river, and its never-to-be-forgotten surroundings. As point after point came into view, we could only look up in silent admiration at the castellated ruins and vineterraced hills as they succeeded each other in picturesque confusion, and longed for the quiet leisure and ample means to explore the inland glories of the Rhine.

We were landed in the evening at Cologne; and the next day being Sunday, we visited the cathedral and most of the other churches. The views about Cologne are not famed for their beauty; but in the evening we strolled up the Rhine for some miles, and obtained a fine view of the Seven Mountains bathed in the last rays of the setting sun, and lit up with those beautiful violet tints that must be seen to be fully understood.

We left the next day by rail for Calais, and found ourselves in the evening taking a mutton chop with our tea at the "Gun Inn," Dover. So ended my first Continental trip; and I promise myself, on some future day, should my finances allow of such a luxury, the pleasure of a pedestrian tour through the Tyrol and Switzerland, and a run through Northern Italy. I should much like to see Rome.

EDINBURGH AND THE HIGHLANDS

INCE reading the "Waverley Novels," the poems of Burns and Scott, the "Noctes Ambrosianæ,” and the "Recreations" of Chris

topher North, to which I must add the sermons of Dr. Chalmers and those of Edward Irving, together with the writings of Thomas Carlyle, the most profound and original thinker of our day, I had a strong desire to see the land that gave birth to these illustrious men-the famous

"Land of brown heath and shaggy wood,
Land of the mountain and the flood."

In 1858, and again in 1861, I spent two vacations in Scotland. My first visit was chiefly confined to Edinburgh and the adjacent neighbourhood, supplemented by a very pleasant week's run through some of the Highlands, with one of Scotia's sons, who had left his father's farm when a young man, and, like most of his persevering and persistent countrymen, had been successful on this side of the Tweed.

It is scarcely possible to speak too highly of the metropolis of Scotland. Edinburgh probably stands unrivalled as a city—its situation is magnificent; and there are few, if any, of my readers who have not read the glowing accounts from the gifted pens of Dr. Johnson, Sir Walter Scott, Christopher North, Hugh Miller, and Professor Aytoun.

Poets have sung its praises, and historians and novelists have dwelt upon its many beauties. In reading the glowing accounts of their fatherland I had sometimes thought them extravagant in their praises; but I must candidly confess that all the descriptions I have ever met with, even