There are
wide, intersecting walks, fountains, broad basins, and many statues; but
almost the whole surface of the gardens is barren earth, instead of the
verdure that would beautify an English pleasure-ground of this sort. In
the summer it has doubtless an agreeable shade; but at this season the
naked branches look meagre, and sprout from slender trunks. Like the
trees in the Champs Elysees, those, I presume, in the gardens of the
Tuileries need renewing every few years. The same is true of the human
race,--families becoming extinct after a generation or two of residence
in Paris. Nothing really thrives here; man and vegetables have but an
artificial life, like flowers stuck in a little mould, but never taking
root. I am quite tired of Paris, and long for a home more than ever.
MARSEILLES.
Hotel d'Angleterre, January 15th.--On Tuesday morning, (12th) we took our
departure from the Hotel de Louvre. It is a most excellent and perfectly
ordered hotel, and I have not seen a more magnificent hall, in any
palace, than the dining-saloon, with its profuse gilding, and its
ceiling, painted in compartments; so that when the chandeliers are all
alight, it looks a fit place for princes to banquet in, and not very fit
for the few Americans whom I saw scattered at its long tables.
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