OUR PARIS

MY DEAR C--,

CORRESPONDENT.

What nose-biting weather! and how the cold wind enters the numerous bad-fitting doors and windows of our Paris houses, and bids defiance to the fires on our low hearths! This, indeed, is a real winter, snow in every direction. In several localities communications entirely suspended, trains half-buried in the snow, and, alas! here and there, an unfortunate pedestrian frozen to death while endeavouring to escape through the silent-falling element that gradually gets higher and higher until the white shroud covers its victim. In Paris we have only a thin covering, just enough to freeze and crackle under our feet, and to send flocks of sparrows and robins to beg a few crumbs from our windows. The Skating Club is in high spirits, and many a poor novice on skates has already been heels upwards on the ice in the Bois de Boulogne, where everything is so well regulated that such an awful accident as that in the Regent's Park cannot happen. Our fashionables merely risk a cold bath, if the ice does break.

his works was sold a short time ago for 35,000 francs; another was sold at auction a little time before his death, for 19francs 60 centimes. It was not signed, but the connoisseur to whom it was knocked down, carried it immediately to Ingres, who recognized it and signed it. His talent, or rather his genius, is contested by some of his cotemporaries, and the papers are full of anecdotes relative to his struggles before attaining celebrity. Monsieur de Pommereux was once at Monsieur de Pastoret's, and seeing a portrait of the master of the house, said to a little man near him, "What a daub!" "Do you think so?" answered the little man. "That is an esthetical question—it is a question of good taste," replied Monsieur de P--. "Allow me not to be of your opinion, then," said the little man, "I being the author of the present daub!" and Ingres gravely bowed to his confused critic. Alphonse Karr related this scene, in his "Guêpes," in a manner that displeased Monsieur de Pommereux; he immediately went to Ingres, and a provocation of a duel was the reMonsieur Haussmann's government is good sult of the visit. Ingres had never either sometimes, if we could but appreciate it; though touched a sword or pistol in his life; but he we are sadly incredulous on that point occa- was so enraged at his antagonist rendering him sionally, and just at the present moment in par- responsible for what an author chose to write, ticular, when, without the least respect for public that he was determined to fight. Madame opinion, he is unmercifully cutting up our Ingres, in a fright, ran and related the affair to beautiful garden du Luxembourg, and that after Monsieur Molé, then Minister of State; he Government having promised last year that went and told it to the King (Louis Philippe), nothing should be done before the Corps Legis- who despatched a guard, with orders to latif had discussed the question at the coming prevent Monsieur Ingres leaving his house, sessions: there never was a more flagrantnd during that time the seconds arranged manque de parole; one of the loveliest places in Paris, la pépinière, with its paths meandering through the shades of every species of blooming and fragrant tree, and possessing the most precious collection of vines in the world, has disappeared entirely; and in other parts of the garden, trees that have been ages in growing are to be cut down, because Monsieur Haussmann prefers flower-beds. The Parisians are furious, and His Majesty may depend that he has committed a great fault in laughing at public opinion.

The New Year has thinned the ranks of eminent personages the brilliant orator aud senator, the Marquis de Larochejaquelin, died the other day; then Ingres, the first artist raised to the dignity of senator by Napoleon III., and in him France has lost her most distinguished painter. He belonged to the Raphael school, and used to declare that Rubens was a mere butcher, and his paintings a butcher's shop; and so exasperated was he against all colourists, that, in visiting a friend who possessed a picture by Chassélian, he would hold the tail of his coat before his eyes until he had passed before the obnoxious painting. One of

the affair. A few days after Monsieur Ingres' death, Monsieur Cousin was struck with an apoplectic fit, and is also gone to his last home. He was a peer of France, and Minister of Public Instruction under Louis Philippe, Member of the French Academy, and was a distinguished writer. Mlle. Georges, the once famous trage dian, the rival of Mlle. Duchenois, is also dead. She had long retired from the stage, and lived in obscurity. The present quarrel of two ac tresses (Mile. Schneider and Mlle. Silly), which has been the theme of discussion with the press for the last fortnight, has recalled to memory the quarrels of Mlle. Georges and Mlle. Duchenois, when a Minister of State deigned to interfere.

By my tone in announcing so many deaths you will begin to imagine that Paris is dull this season, when, on the contrary, we give a passing sigh to departed souls, and then continue our amusements; and never have the Parisians danced more than they dance now. There are balls in every direction, masked balls in par ticular. Almost every theatre now has its bal masqué. The Italian Theatre gave its first the other night; and-quite a new thing there

private soirées are also very brilliant. Theresa has gone done. The little Camille, the child that performed with such success in the "Benoiton Family," is now all the rage. She repeats fables, and is the idol for the moment. Those who can, secure the German star that is for a short time shining in our horizon-the great violinist Joachim. His talent surpasses all we have ever heard here: everyone acknowledges it. He has played at the Athenée-a new room for concerts and lectures, built by a Monsieur Bishoffsheim, in the fashionable quarter, with the intention of giving its produce to charitable institutions. As yet it does not pay its expenses. It fills very well the night of the concerts; but when Monsieur Babinet and Co. send people to sleep on the lecture-nights, they prefer going to bed; it is more comfortable, and less expensive. Apropos of Monsieur Babinet, the 'savant de l'institut," who cannot admit the possibility of the Transatlantic telegraph: he now denies the beauty of the Koh-i-nor, in an article in the Constitutionnel on diamonds. The mountain of light makes a poor effect beside the Regent. The English, to get the Koh-inor, according to M. Babinet, refused all food to their captives (the Rajah, his wives, and children) for several days, until hunger made the poor Indian deliver up the jewel.

a very splendid anonymous New-year's gift-a bracelet with three magnificent stones, a diamond, an emerald, and a ruby. She has been obliged to accept it, not being able to make out whence it comes. What a nuisance these Newyear's gifts here are! It is a regular tax. If you have looked at a man, woman, or child beneath you, they expect "des étrennes" from you on New-year's Day, and always appear dissatisfied with what you give. I admire Cardinal Dubois' gift to his steward, cited the other day by the Liberté. "Friend," said the Cardinal to his steward, who came to wish him a happy new year, "I give you for your 'étrennes" (the steward's mouth was wide open, and his face beaming with hope), "I give you all that you have robbed me of during the year."

The Monde publishes a paper on Germany. The god beer, according to the Monde, reigns absolute in that country. It is he that has materialized and brutalized the Germans. The author then cites Luther as having adored him. Schiller, Goethe, and Hedal did not despise him, &c., &c. If beer brutalizes and materializes in that fashion, I say let us set-to and adore! If we could only get a spark of their stupidity it would be worth while.

The 243rd anniversary of the birth of Molière was celebrated the other day at the Théâtre Française and the Odéon, with the usual ceremony.

It seems that the "Enfant-torpille," of which I spoke in my last letter, is a fact: Monsieur le docteur Boussières affirms it. He saw with his If you had any wolves in England, I would own eyes-he who was the most incredulous of say beware of your calves, ladies. It seems that the incredulous-he saw a table spring on the these animals are very fond of the fat of female child, and chairs run after her: one even dragged calves of the legs, and snap at them with great Monsieur le docteur with it! Monsieur Bous-gusto when fortune (for the wolves!) sends lasières says he can explain the phenomenon by electro-physical process. I imagine that this child will soon be the amusement of our parties. The pupazzi of Monsieur Lemercier de Neuville have again appeared in several private entertainments. By-the-bye this gentleman has been refused admittance into the "Société des Gens de Lettres," on account of his dancing dolls, although he is a writer of merit. Mlle. Patti received

dies in their way-much obliged for their preference! It seems that there is a Spanish proverb, which says that "young ladies are gold, married ladies silver, widows copper, and old women tin!" I wonder what old men are? Wolves are not so particular: as long as the calves are fat, that is all they desire-in which they are more reasonable than men. Adieu.

S. A.

LEAVES FOR THE LITTLE

CONVERSATIONS WITH PAPA.

ETHEL. Papa, what is meant by Dog-days? I know it's very hot weather, but that doesn't tell me the reason they are called by such an odd name.

PAPA. They begin on the 3rd of July, when Sirius, the dog-star, rises and sets with the sun. They end on the 11th of August.

IDA. And Rogation-days, Papa? I heard a gentleman ask the other day what they were, and nobody could tell him.

PAPA. They are the days preceding Holy

ONES.

Thursday. The early Christians used to spend the time in prayer and supplication to God. The word is from the Latin, rogare-to beseech. There is also Maunday-Thursday, i.e., the Thursday in Passion-week. It was so named from the command of our Saviour to his Apostles to commemorate him in the Lord's Supper. On Mid-Lent, or Mothering Sunday as it is called in some parts of England, it was once the custom to visit the cathedral, or mother-church, on that day, hence the term.

RICHARD. Papa, who invented coats-ofarms?

PAPA. The Crusaders. By having a edvice | to breathe a murmur at his sufferings. Give a on their shields one man could be distinguished another question, please, Papa. from another, which would have been otherwise PAPA. One that you will guess at once-an a very difficult matter when they were covered elegant writer of an allegorical poem. with armour from head to foot. Suppose, now, IDA. Was it Milton, Papa? you keep the other questions for next time, and let us try to amuse ourselves with a new game I have invented for you? We will try it first, and give it a name afterwards. It is to be played thus: I tell you that I have thought of a person or event in a certain century, and you are allowed to ask as many questions as you please to enable you to find the answer.

ETHEL. Do begin, Papa. What is it? PAPA. A celebrated courtier of the sixteenth century, universally beloved, and distinguished both for his wit and accomplishments.

ETHEL. Oh, I know, Papa-it was Sir Walter Raleigh.

PAPA. Guess again. You have not even asked in whose reign he lived.

IDA. Was it Henry VIII., Mary, or Elizabeths?

RICHARD. Had he anything to do with France ?

PAPA. Yes: Charles IX. was so pleased with him, that he conferred on him a special office about his person; but the dreadful massacre of St. Bartholomew occurring soon after, he was obliged to take refuge with the English Ambassador, and continue the voyage on which his sovereign had sent him.

RICHARD. Then it was Queen Elizabeth who was cotemporary with Charles IX. What else, Papa?

PAPA. He was sent to Vienna to endeavour to form the Protestants into a league for the defence of their religion. William of Orange sent word to the Queen that he thought him the wisest counsellor in Europe.

ETHEL. Was it Drake, Papa?

PAPA. Wrong again. You will guess at once when I tell you that he had agreed to accompany Drake, but the Queen made him Governor of Flushing, instead of allowing him to go.

IDA. Where is Flushing?

PAPA. It is in Holland, and was one of the towns committed to the English for security by the Dutch. At Zutphen-another town-our hero received a mortal wound, and what then occurred will always make him remembered. RICHARD. It was Sir Philip Sydney, of

course.

PAPA. What did he write, Ida?
IDA. Was it a poem called "Arcadia"?
PAPA. It was; but who can relate the anec-
dote to which I alluded?

RICHARD. When faint from loss of blood he asked for something to drink-which was brought to him—just at the moment he looked up, and saw a poor bleeding soldier being carried along, and looking wistfully at the bottle. Sir Philip at once took it from his own lips and gave it to the soldier, saying, "Thy necessity is greater than mine!" He only lived sixteen days after this happened, and was never heard

PAPA. It was not; but I am glad you thought of "The Paradise Lost," as it shows you understood my explanation of the term "allegory." Now, how can I help you? The poem is divided into six books.

ETHEL. Does the name begin with S?"
PAPA. It does. You know now.
ETHEL. It was Shakespeare.

PAPA. Only right so far that he lived in the reign of Elizabeth.

IDA. It was Spenser, who wrote the "Faërie Queene." I saw a picture about it the other day, and then tried to make it out by the book: but I couldn't make any sense of it.

PAPA. Simply because you could not understand the personification. If I remember rightly the poem opens with a description of the Queen holding a festival for twelve days; during that time a number of knights present themselves at her court, who all undertake different adventures, and each of these individuals represents a Christian virtue. Religion and knight-errantry are mixed up everywhere, and the whole aim is to depict the character of a perfect man. Do not attempt to read it again at present, my dear: two or three years hence you will find more pleasure in its perusal than now: but reach me down the volume, and I will read to you some beautiful lines, intended to illustrate God's care for his creatures by the ministration of angels:

"And is there care in heaven? and is there love
In heavenly spirits to these creatures base
That may compassion of their evils move?
There is; else much more wretched were the race
Of men than beasts. But oh! the exceeding grace
Of highest God, that loves his creatures so,
And all his works with mercy does embrace,
That blessed angels he sends to and fro
To serve to wicked man, to serve to wicked foe!

"How oft do they their silver bowers leave,
To come to succour us that succour want!
How oft do they with golden pinions cleave
The fleeting skies, like flying pursuivant
Against foul fiends, to aid us militant!
They for us fight, they watch and duly ward,
And their bright squadrons round us plant,
And all for love, and nothing for reward!
Oh! why should heavenly God to men have such
regard ?"

IDA. Of course I shall like the poem better now you have put the meaning plainer. What are we to call the game, Papa?

ETHEL. "Papa's Game" is the best.

PAPA. "The Century Game" would be better, because you see, my love, it would only be your Papa's game.

RICHARD. Will "The Children's Century Game" do, Papa ?

PAPA. So let it be, my boy; and mind you get some good puzzles for next time.

ANECDOTES OF DOGS.

(From "Dogs and their Ways.")

BY THE REV. CHARLES WILLIAMS.

"Every family," says Dr. Brown, "should have a dog; it is like having a perpetual baby; it is the plaything and crony of the whole house. It keeps them all going; and then he tells no tales, betrays no secrets, never sulks, asks no troublesome questions, never gets into debt, never coming down late to breakfast, or coming in too early to bed; is always ready for a bit of fun, lies in wait for it, and you may, if angry, kick him, to your relief, instead of some one else, who might not take it so meekly."

Mr. Youatt had a brace of greyhounds, which he says were "as arrant thieves as ever lived." Not that they committed their thefts without judgment, for, in some of their movements, they displayed a sagacity which such dogs have not been supposed commonly to possess. Now and then they would steal into the cooking room belonging to the kennel, lift the lid from the boiler, and if any portion of the joint or piece of meat rose above the water, suddenly seize it, and, before there was time for them to feel much of its heat, whirl it on the floor, and eat it at their leisure as it got cold.

On these pranks being known, it was gravely determined to prevent them in future; so the top of the boiler was carefully secured by an iron rod passed under its handle, and tied to the handle of the boiler on each side. But not many days passed before the greyhounds discovered that they could gnaw the cords asunder; and so successfully did they achieve the task, that they obtained the meat, and regaled themselves as they had done before. Small chains were now substituted for the cords, under the notion that the meat would now be perfectly safe; and so it remained for nearly a week. But now the greyhounds found out that by rearing themselves on their hind legs, and applying their united strength to the top of the boiler, they could lift it out of its bed, and rolling it along the floor, get at the broth, though the meat was beyond their reach. The only course appeared to be to remove the dogs; and the man who had charge of them was glad at their departure; for he said he was often afraid to go into the kennel, and was sure they were devils, and not dogs.

Samuel Wood, one of the bravest of the brave

men who form the fire-brigade, it was said some three years ago, has saved nearly a hundred men, women, and children from the flames. Bill, a very remarkable dog that has greatly contributed to this amazing result, distinguishes him from all men similarly employed, as the special object of his strong attachment. As he has, like his master, to be very wakeful, and at his post of duty throughout the night, he sleeps during the day, and, at the time just mentioned, had done so for nine long years. Bill never allows his master to sleep too long; he, at least, is sure to wake in good time; yet he never attempts to run out of doors until the time approaches for them to go to the station. How is it that he keeps time, as he undoubtedly does, so well?

When the fire-escape is wheeled out of Whitechapel churchyard, at nine o'clock, Bill is sure to be there. On an alarm of fire being heard, though commonly very quiet, he begins to bark most furiously. Wood has no occasion to spring his rattle, for the policemen come up at this well and widely-known sound. If the alarm takes place when few people are in the streets, he runs round to the coffee-houses near, and pushing the doors open barks his "Come and help!Come and help !" and his call is promptly and cheerfully obeyed.

In dark nights the lantern has to be lit, when Bill seizes it, and runs on before his master; and when the ladder is reared, active as Samuel Wood is, the dog is at the top before him. He leaps into the rooms, and, amidst thick_smoke and approaching flames, bounds from chamber to chamber, helping his master to find and bring out the inmates.

On one occasion, so rapidly did the fire burn and so dense was the smoke, that Wood and another man could not find their way out, and feared, at length, that escape was hopeless. But as if fully aware of their danger, Bill began to bark, when Wood and his comrade, half suffocated, crawled after the dog, and in a few moments they providentially reached a window and their lives were saved. At another time a kitten was found by Bill in a house on fire, when he drove it down from stair to stair until it reached the door, when it was cared for by a policeman.

Bill's silver collar bore the following inscription:

"I am the Fire-escape-man's dog-my name is Bill ;
When fire' is called, I am never still.

I bark for my master, all danger I brave,
To bring the Escape,' human life to save."

Poor Bill, too, has had his sufferings as well as honours. Once, at a fire, he fell through a hole burnt in the floor, into a tub of scalding water, from which he suffered dreadfully, and narrowly escaped a bitter death; and on three other occasions he was unfortunately run over, but was soon restored to perform his usual services.

Bob, a low-standing, long-bodied dog, of a

He wore a embrace once over, he never took any further notice of his master till he next came home.

In May, 1860, he went through his various said W, this dog would get up from the hearth When any of the family were going out and extraordinary performances at the annual meeting of the Royal Society for the Prevention of and listen attentively; the utterance of A would increase his excitement; but it reached its Cruelty to Animals, for the purpose of showing height when L and K were added; though till how obedient dumb animals may be made by he heard W he was perfectly still. He wanted, kindly treatment; and so greatly were the audience gratified that he was to have appeared again too, to be off at once, of which he gave many before them at the next anniversary, but unhap-master lingered, he would go down-stairs, bring sufficiently practical illustrations, Thus, if his pily a few days before its occurrence, he was run over by an engine while proceeding to a fire, and killed, like all his predecessors.