Austerlitz, will ever attract the cultivated in taste from every quarter in Europe, even after the political greatness of France has declined, and its glories exist only in the records of historic fame."

"The Parisians," says Mr. Wood, "boast of their bridges, but without great reason: the Pont d'Austerlitz, sometimes called Pont du Jardin du Roi, is fine for an iron bridge; the Pont Neuf, which crosses two branches of the Seine, and has twelve arches, has little pretensions to beauty; the Pont des Arts is a light, not to say slight, construction of iron, for foot passengers; the Pont Royal is a well-constructed stone bridge, of five arches, but hardly a handsome one; the Pont de la Concorde is a stone structure, of five very ugly-looking flat arches; and the Pont de Jena is a caricature of flattened elliptical arches, and apparent lightness, its entire merit being confined to some ingenuity in the construction, in order to obtain this effect, which, nevertheless, is certainly a blemish.'

As in London, the fashionable district is to the west of the city, while those of an opposite character are at the south and east. The boulevards, which encircle the more densely peopled neighbourhood, occupy the site of the old fortifications built in the reign of Louis XIII. They are from sixty to seventy yards in width, and along each side, till very lately, there appeared a complete and handsome double row of elms. Those to the north of the river are lined on both sides throughout their extent by buildings of a very handsome description, some of which are private residences, while others are shops, cafés, public hotels, and theatres. The magnificence of the buildings, the majestic trees, the winding form and great breadth of the street, and the cheerful crowds by which it is frequented, impart singular vivacity and attractiveness to the scene, and render the Boulevards one of the most interesting spectacles of the kind which any modern city can exhibit. Here all classes of the people may be seen, from the wealthiest to the most indigent:

"Now comes the idler's hour. The beggar-bard Takes his old quarters on the Boulevard;"

while beneath the trees the conjuror spreads his tools," or the quack harangues a group, on some universal recipe for all diseases of government or ailments of body:

The Colonne de Juillet, in the Place de la Bastille, is a prominent object, both from its appearance and its historic associations. The site was once occupied by the famed state prison, to which any might be confined for life at the pleasure of the sovereign, and many spent from thirty to fifty years within its walls. The column was here erected, as the inscription states" To the glory of French citizens, who armed and fought for the public liberties, on the memorable days of July 27, 28, and 29, 1830." The basement is of white marble, supported by blocks of granite, and the shaft of the pillar consists of metallic cylinders, "partly fluted, and partly enriched with bands bearing lions' heads; their mouths form apertures for the admission of light and air to the staircase in the interior of the column. The spaces into which these bands divide the column are filled with the names of 504 combatants, who were killed during the 'three days.' A gilt globe surmounts the capital, on which stands a colossal figure, also gilt, representing the genius of Liberty, on tiptoe, as if in the act of taking flight, with a torch in his right hand, and in his left a broken chain." The column is of the Composite order, and about 163 feet high, and 12 in diameter. The whole structure cost 48,000l., and the weight of the material was more than 725 tons. The view from the summit, as will be readily imagined, is both extensive and interesting.

The Seine divides the city into two unequal parts, the larger being on the northern side; the most ancient portion, however, is confined to the small islands within the channel of the river. It is at present so extended that, including the Champ Elysées and other open places, at the western extremity, it occupies an area of more than fourteen square miles. The Seine is not like the Thames, a deep, broad river, bearing to the city sea-borne vessels of large burden. The navigation is maintained by large boats, called coches d'eau, by barks, and within the last few years, by steamers, the num ber of which is increasing. From the higher parts of the river, about 11,000 boats arrive every year, with fruit, corn, flour, hay, wine, bricks, and a variety of other commodities; besides about 4,000 barks laden with timber, charcoal, and

fire-wood. Barges, also, of from fifty to sixty tons burden, pass up from Rouen, with foreign and colonial produce.

The dead were formerly interred along the sides of the roads leading out of the city; and these graveyards, by the increase of the population, were at length included within its precincts. Large trenches were then made, similar to those opened during the plague in London, and the corpses were thrown in till they were filled, when they were covered over, and others dug close to them. The government afterwards interfered to prevent this disgusting and pernicious practice, funerals were prohibited within the town, and spacious cemeteries erected at the distance of a mile from the city walls. Paris has now five large and wellarranged cemeteries, similar in many respects to those which have been formed on the same model in the neighbourhoods of London, Liverpool, Leeds, and other large towns in England. The Père-laChaise, outside the eastern barrier, is the finest of the Parisian cemeteries; and its advantageous position on the slope of a hill, the number and beauty of its monuments, and the celebrity of many of those whose remains have been here interred, make it one of the most interesting sights in the French metropolis. The bones in the old grave-yards were deposited in the subterraneous quarries or catacombs under the quartier St. Germain, which are very capacious, extending under about a third of Paris, south of the Seine.

When these quarries were exhausted, they were abandoned, the entrances being filled up with earth. Many accidents having occurred from the falling in of buildings which had thus been deprived of the customary means of support, prompt and efficient means were adopted to avert what threatened to be no less than the destruction of a large part of the capital, by the giving way of the unsupported ground on which it stood. These precautions were so well and judiciously contrived, that the galleries underground were made to correspond with the streets above; and all the hollows beneath buildings were either filled up, or the roof supported by strong masses of masonry. In 1780, the lieutenant-general of police suggested that they should be converted into burial-places for the dead of the metropolis, and the bones from various burying-grounds were removed thither, and piled up in the exhaustless

passages of the catacombs. In 1810 and 1811, numerous alterations were made, and inscriptions and embellishments added, with the view of beautifying this dreary abode. When visitors enter by the principal staircase, having been furnished with lights, they first accompany their guides through a descent of seventy feet, into a gallery of various width and height, the roof partly supported by rock, and partly by stone pillars. After traversing this and others for a considerable distance, directed by a black line painted on the ceiling, they arrive at an octagonal vestibule, with a black gate between two Tuscan columns, on which are inscribed the words of the poet Delille, "Stop! here is the empire of death!” On passing this gate, the passages are lined from the door to the roof with the bones of millions of human beings, arranged in symmetrical piles, interspersed among which are sentences written in black letters on a white ground, alluding to the past history of those whose earthly remains tenant this silent city. What materials for reflection are thus presented to a devout mind!

The abattoirs of Paris, which have attracted considerable attention in the British metropolis in connexion with sanatory reform, are well deserving of attention. Previous to their being opened in 1818, there were slaughterhouses in the crowded and populous districts of Paris; and the passage of cattle through the streets was found to be intolerable. Five abattoirs were opened in order to remove this evil, and are generally allowed to have been successful in rendering Paris free from a great and increasing nuisance. The abattoirs are within the barriers, at an average distance of a mile and three quarters from the centre of the city. The buildings are abundantly supplied with water, are well ventilated, and kept as clean as possible. It appears that the revenue, which is derived from tolls charged on the animals killed, amounted, during one year, to nearly 50,000l. sterling, and the expenses to about 5,000l., leaving a profit to the city of Paris of more than 40,000l., or about six and a half per cent. on the 680,000l. originally expended in the construction of the establishments.

Extensive and valuable collections of books are attached to almost every public institution in Paris. The most splendid of these is the National Library, which surpasses in extent and value every other

in Europe. It contains no fewer than 900,000 books and printed pamphlets, 80,000 manuscripts, 1,600,000 engravings, 300,000 maps and plans, and a highly valuable collection of medals and antiquities.

The environs of Paris are not covered with those numerous villas and country residences which have been constructed to gratify the rural taste of the citizens of London. Immediately beyond the walls a flat open country extends. The neigh- | bourhood is chiefly marked by palaces— | superb fabrics—the works of successive kings, on which immense sums of money have been expended. The most elaborate and splendid of these is that of Versailles. It was commenced by Louis XIII., who found little more than a village in the neighbourhood; but the chief ornaments of the palace were due to Louis XIV., who, during twelve years, surrounded it with everything that would tend to increase its magnificent appearance. The front is built of polished stone, and is approached by three principal avenues. The interior consists of spacious apartments, embellished in the most costly manner, and many parts of them and of the staircases are covered with frescoes by eminent French painters. The interior of the gardens is adorned with numerous statues, partly antique and partly the work of native sculptors. There was at first a deficiency of water; but this has been conveyed in such abundance, that it is lavished in fanciful and fantastic forms, fountains, jets d'eau, and cascades, with which Versailles is more profusely embellished than any other palace.

The desecration of the Lord's day is a common but painful characteristic of the people of France. One visitor declares, that had he not looked into the almanack, he could not have told which day was Sunday. The shops are open, carts and carriages ply the streets, and placards invite to vaudevilles at the theatres, so that it would appear at first sight, that the sabbath was blotted from the French calendar. On closer inspection, it is discovered that it is differently observed from other days; but the occupations seem to have their principal change in the substitution of pleasure for business. Mr. Maclaren mentions, that he called about seven o'clock on the sabbath, at the once celebrated Café de Mille Colonnes, which has since sunk to the character of an estaminet, or smoking

house; and he here observed two or three parties playing at billiards, and a score of smaller groups, some of them comprehending entire families, of from two to six persons, playing at dominoes. The great proportion of the working classes ply their labours on Sunday till dinnertime; they rest in the afternoon, and "that they may not want their holiday, go beyond the barriers, where wine is cheap, and spend the Monday in drinking and dancing." The waste of time, and above all, the desecration of the "day of rest," must ever be a subject for mournful contemplation; but we rejoice to find that the attention which has been recently directed to its solemn claims, will be the means of throwing much light on a theme which involves the highest considerations relative to the present happiness and eternal welfare of the family of F.

man.

USEFUL ACTIVITY.

THE first employment of man, even in paradise, was to increase the comforts of earth to every creature in it; therefore no man can be wrong who, with a right motive, sets about improving the facilities or increasing the productiveness of agriculture and commerce. He is obeying God, he is helping to supply the natural demands of human kind, and promoting the establishment of universal peace. He is blessed. And the man who searches after truth, and diffuses it when he has found it, is also industrious in the right way, and he also is blessed in his labour. Whatever calls to action in a right cause opposes discontent, by exciting a hope that has the property of happiness in itself, because it engages the soul in a pursuit that ends only in finding some higher and happier employment. man duteously busy is heavenly in hope, in action, in habit, and in end, because he is using Divine means for Divine purposes, and for the advancement of himself in the good of his neighbours.

The

There are no good works without faith. We must believe in the reward and the Rewarder, before we can possess a right spirit for labour; since, otherwise, our employment will amount to no more than the drudgery of seeking vain amusement, or of slaving on in greater degradation than a muzzled ox under the sharp stimulus of the goad. But patience, too, has its perfect work, and it is blessed indeed,

be free.

Youth is especially the period of activity, and if the habit of mental economy be not then formed, it can rarely be afterwards acquired. Without the active vitality of spring, we look in vain for the blooming vigour of summer and the rich fruits of autumn. How weighty, then, the responsibility of youth, and how urgent the duty of every individual who possesses influence on the young, to cause all means in their power to bear upon the formation of the characters of those to whom society must look for new impulses and power. Young men, stir up your strength; your country looks to you, not merely for the maintenance of its greatness, but for the fuller develop-| ment of its majesty, as the mistress of the world. Think, that you may act, and act worthily of your high vocation, as the transmitters and improvers of all that is noble in institution or intention. Remember, the means are in your hands of changing the aspect of the whole world, and causing it to reflect the glory of heaven in its face. The machinery by which states and all their societies are to move onwards is to be kept at work, and governed by your management and strength. It is not placed in your power for yourselves, nor by yourselves; you serve God, or you are called to serve. If you refuse, you serve God's everlasting antagonist, and you know his wages. The Almighty has brought you into being, and made you men, that the business of humanity may be yours, as it is his. He demands your hearts and your hands, to co-operate with Omnipotence in the service of the Son of God and of man, that you may inherit together the glory that is coming. The world must be set in motion, both mechanically and religiously; therefore he gives you the steam-engine and the Bible, with which to regenerate mankind. Truth and engineering, science natural and science spiritual, are the only civilizers and reformers; the one for the body, the other for the soul. If you would succeed, you must use both, with a consciousness that all power is God's. He bids you deposit the lightning, that it may conduct your thoughts, as rapidly as they arise, from land to land, and he requires you to take the light from heaven into your hearts, and speak it everywhere. Thus the wide earth shall be as

ance streaming through it, and all its inhabitants shall be united in soul by Divine knowledge, and feel that their homes are hanging upon heaven by bands of glory. All nature shall be spiritualized to the apprehension of mankind, and they shall see, like angels, that the meaning of all things is the mind of God.

All God's universe is in motion under his hand; move with it. Let the harmony of his purpose be yours. Let power be ruled by love; let the activities of that animating spirit govern you, for if it do not, all the elements that are so inscrutably active about you and within you, will war against you, and whirl you into outer darkness. But your minds being regulated by obedience to the Divine word, you will find all things working together for your good, and you will, in fact, be obedient to the very thought that, being spoken, brought light into existence, and thence all things; and thus you will act at last as if constituted like it, by being really, and in spirit, united with the Word, that was God, and dwelt among us, and whose glory we beheld as full of grace and truth. Minds not thus submissive to Heaven become more miserable in proportion to their efforts. They may strive to be idle, but they will only be wretched.-Dr. Moore.

LICHENS.-No. I.

THERE is something at once picturesque and impressive in the sight of an old tree, overgrown with the grey lichens-covered with their crust over the trunk, and often, too, over their branches. Few who look on an old oak or hawthorn thus attired, but would be reminded of the hoary head of age, while the boughs, which seem to have lost their greenness and vigour, serve, too, to recall the decrepitude of eld. Wordsworth thus describes an aged thorn, which is but the type of many a one which we might find in a walk through our woodlands:

"There is a thorn, it looks so old,
In truth you'd find it hard to say
How it could ever have been young,
It looks so old and grey;

No leaves it has, no thorny points,
It is a mass of knotted joints,

A wretched thing forlorn;

It stands erect and like a stone,
With lichens it is overgrown;
Like rock or stone it is o'ergrown
With lichens to the very top,
And hung with hoary tufts of moss-
A melancholy crop."

But though the poet designates the lichen and mossy tufts a melancholy crop, still the air of antiquity which they confer on the old tree has its own charm to the moralizer who wanders

through the forest. If they remind us of decay, yet they seem to hide its deformity; and the broken limbs, and the riven trunk, though perchance without a green leaf to smile upon them, have a beauty peculiar to themselves, just as old age, when found in the way of righteousness," has a calm and venerable dignity, which rivals in worth the grace and life of youth.

But if the " grey-grown oaks" and other trees exhibit chiefly the numbers and varieties of the lichen tribe, yet these plants are not confined to them. The tall and stately oak which seems flourishing so as to remind us of the vigour and beauty of manhood in its prime; the slender birch, emblematic of feminine the hawthorn and elm, grace; which, though a century has passed over them, seem scarcely old, have yet, here and there, on stem or branch, the rugged

grey green lichen.

The old tower standing in solitary grandeur amongst its ruined walls and broken arches, is covered with its "time stains;" the garden palings, the cottage thatch, the mossy stone, the brick wall, the rocky heath land, have their own vegetable crusts; and one lichen can vegetate even on iron, and another can flourish on the cold and forbidden surface of the stalactite. Crabbe well de

scribes these plants as crowning the decay of the ancient building :

"Yon bold tower survey,

Tall and entire, and venerably grey,
For Time has softened what was harsh when new,
And now the stains are all of sober hue;
The living stains, which Nature's hand alone,
Profuse of life, pours forth upon the stone,
For ever growing; where the common eye
Can but the bare and rocky bed descry,
There Science loves to trace her tribes minute,
The juiceless foliage, and the tasteless fruit;
There she perceives them round the surface creep,
And while they meet, their due distinction keep,
Mix'd but not blended; each its name retains;
And these are Nature's ever during stains."

Lichens require the free access of light for their growth; they therefore are found less on trees which grow in shady groves than on those of the open places,

fully exposed to the sun's influence. They are rare in the cracks of mountains, and never found in the underground caverns or mines. They are composed wholly of cells, without the mingling of any vessels or fibres. Sometimes they form simply a pulverulent crust or stain, and in this state they appear on newly formed islands. Others are like misshapen leaves, branches of coral, or stag's horns, or are dense crusts of little symmetry. The fructification of the lichens consists of tubercles or saucerlike bodies, in which the seeds are em bedded. No glowing tints embellish this class of plants, their brittle crusts being most frequently of a pale whitish green, though some are yellow, and others of a red or brown hue. Miss Twamley gives an amusing but true picture of them:

"Some are reddish, some brown, some grey, and some black,

And they're pucker'd, edged, buttoned, or fringed, front and back;

Some are lying like leather close under your feet;

Some waving from trees, in the forest, you'll meet."

After the powdering crusts which first appear on the new soil of the rock, come the foliaceous lichens, and then follow the mosses. Lichens are to be found in

all parts of the world. In the hot and torrid plains of the African deserts, there they are encrusting the rock or stone. The scorching sun may shrivel them, but the rain of day, or the mighty dews from heaven, have but to visit them, and again they are flourishing. Even if hot water be poured upon them, their vitality is not destroyed; but they will revive shortly after. Within the range of the Arctic circle, there they grow in a temperature beneath the freezing point, wherever light has full access; and on the Polar summits of hills, whose snow seldom melts, there they are sent by God to speak his praise to the lone traveller who reaches these heights. On the granite rocks and forest trees of tropical America, they vegetate as freely as in those northern regions of our globe, where they are so indispensable to man and to the animal creation. Humboldt remarks of the mountains of New Andalusia, that wherever scattered rocks afford shade, the lichens and some European mosses may be seen; and the rocks of Teneriffe are as famed for the benefit which they afford by their lichens, as are the hills of Lapland. At the very sum