Captain Mundy’s volumes are illustrated chiefly with sketches of Indian sports from the master-hand of Land-seer; and for spirit of execution they deserve to rank among the finest productions of this distinguished artist.

* * * * *

RECENT FRENCH LITERATURE.

A novel picture of Paris has lately appeared with the taking title of the Hundred and One. Its origin, as well as its subject, is interesting.  It is a voluntary association of almost all the literary talent of France, for the benefit of an enterprising bookseller, whose affairs have, it seems, fallen into the sere, since the commercial embarrassments following on the Revolution.  A hundred and one authors of all ranks and political opinions, philosophers, academicians, journalists, deputies, poets, artists, have combined in this work to pass in review before us the humours, follies and opinions of the French capital, painted in colours gay or grave, sketchy or elaborate, according to the manner or mood of the artist.  A very amusing work, suitable to all tastes, is the result, and, by aid of the Foreign Quarterly Review, we are enabled to present the reader with a specimen sketch by Leon Guzlan, an author of some celebrity in this species of writing.[1]

[Footnote 1:  Several specimens have been ably translated in the Athenaeum.]

VISIT TO THE MORGUE, AT PARIS.

(The Morgue, we should premise, is an establishment in Paris for the reception of all persons found dead in the City or its environs.  Thither it is the duty of the police to convey the bodies, where they are exposed in a hall open to the public for a stated time,[1] when, if not identified, and claimed, they are interred in the neighbouring cemetery.)

[Footnote 1:  The bodies are stripped, and placed on sloping slabs of marble; above each are hung the clothes of the deceased.]

“After describing the exterior, the Salle de l’Exposition, which is the only portion of the building, of course, with which the public are acquainted, the writer conducts us into the inner recesses of this house of death, the apartments of the superintendant.

“M.  Perrin, is a little old man, who coughs incessantly.  When I explained to him the object of my visit, he very politely offered to show me all the details of his administration, regretting much, as he said, that there was not so much variety as could be desired.  ’But I will show you what I have—­be pleased to walk up.’

“As we were climbing the narrow stairs, and he was informing me that his establishment was connected both with the prefecture and the police, with the one on account of the local expenses, with the other from its connexion with the public health, we were obliged to stand close against the wall to allow a troop of young girls to pass, well dressed, gay, but shivering with the cold, which blew from the river through the chink which lighted the stair.