Among the American guests at our various Wednesday receptions were Mr. and Mrs. John Bigelow, Mr. and Mrs. James G. Blaine, Mr. Daniel C. French, the Concord sculptor; Mrs. J.C.  Ayer, Mr. L. White Busbey, one of the editors of the Chicago Inter-Ocean; Rev. Dr. Henry M. Field, Charles Gifford Dyer, the painter and father of the gifted young violinist, Miss Hella Dyer; the late Rev. Mr. Moffett, then United States Consul at Athens, Mrs. Governor Bagley and daughter of Michigan; Grace Greenwood and her talented daughter, who charmed everyone with her melodious voice, and Miss Bryant, daughter of the poet.  One visitor who interested us most was the Norwegian novelist and republican, Bjornstjorne Bjornson.

We had several pleasant interviews with Frederick Douglass and his wife, some exciting games of chess with Theodore Tilton, in the pleasant apartments of the late W.J.A.  Fuller, Esq., and his daughter, Miss Kate Fuller.  At this time I also met our brilliant countrywoman, Louise Chandler Moulton.  Seeing so many familiar faces, I could easily imagine myself in New York rather than in Paris.  I attended several receptions and dined with Mrs. Charlotte Beebe Wilbour, greatly enjoying her clever descriptions of a winter on the Nile in her own dahabeeyeh.  I heard Pere Hyacinthe preach, and met his American wife on several occasions.  I took long drives every day through the parks and pleasant parts of the city.  With garden concerts, operas, theaters, and the Hippodrome I found abundant amusement.  I never grew weary of the latter performance—­the wonderful intelligence displayed there by animals, being a fresh surprise to me every time I went.

I attended a reception at the Elysee Palace, escorted by M. Joseph Fabre, then a deputy and now a senator.  M. Fabre is the author of a play and several volumes devoted to Joan of Arc.  He presented me to the President and to Mme. Jules Grevy.  I was also introduced to M. Jules Ferry, then Prime Minister, who said, among other things:  “I am sorry to confess it, but it is only too true, our French women are far behind their sisters in America.”  The beautiful, large garden was thrown open that evening,—­it was in July,—­and the fine band of the Republican Guard gave a delightful concert under the big trees.  I also met M. Grevy’s son-in-law, M. Daniel Wilson.  He was then a deputy and one of the most powerful politicians in France.  A few months later he caused his father’s political downfall.  I have a vivid recollection of him because he could speak English, his father having been a British subject.

I visited the picture galleries once more, after a lapse of nearly fifty years, and was struck by the fact that, in that interval, several women had been admitted to places of honor.  This was especially noticeable in the Luxembourg Sculpture Gallery, where two women, Mme. Bertaux and the late Claude Vignon, wife of M. Rouvier, were both represented by good work—­the first and only women sculptors admitted to that gallery.