Although most of our acquaintances quitted the town, a few thought it safer to remain in their own comfortable apartments, than to run the hazards of travelling; for, in a short time, most of the north of France was suffering under the same grievous affliction.  The authorities conducted themselves well, and there have been very many instances of noble self-devotion, on the part of private individuals, the French character never appearing to better advantage.  In this respect, notwithstanding the general impression to the contrary, I am inclined to believe, after a good deal of inquiry, that Paris has acquitted itself better than London.  The French, certainly, are less disposed, as a rule, to “hide their light under a bushel,” than most other people; but, on the spot and a looker-on, my respect for their feelings and philanthropy has been greatly raised by their conduct during this terrible calamity.

Notwithstanding the horror of the disease, some of the more prominent traits of national character have shown themselves lately.  Among other things, the artists have taken to caricaturing the cholera!  One gets to be so hardened by exposure, as to be able to laugh at even these proofs of moral obtuseness.  Odd enough traits of character are developed by seeing men under such trying circumstances.  During one of the worst periods of the disease, I met a countryman in the street, who, though otherwise a clever man, has the weakness to think the democracy of America its greatest blot.  I asked him why he remained in Paris, having no family, nor any sufficient inducement?  “Oh,” said he, “it is a disease that only kills the rabble:  I feel no concern—­do you?” I told him that, under my peculiar circumstances, I felt a great deal of uneasiness, though not enough to make an unreflecting flight.  A few days afterwards I missed him, and, on inquiry, learned that he had fled.  Some nobleman had died in our faubourg, when he and one of a fellow feeling, finding a taint “between the wind and their nobility,” forthwith beat a retreat!

During the height of the malady, an old English general officer, who had served in India, and who was now residing near us, sent me an invitation to dinner.  Tired of seeing no one, I went.  Here everything was as tranquil as if we were living in the purest atmosphere in Europe.  Sir ——­, my host, observed that he had got seasoned in India, and that he believed good living one of the best preventives against the disease.  The Count de ——­ came in just before dinner was announced, and whispered to me that some twelve or fifteen hundred had been buried the previous day, although less than a thousand had been reported.  This gentleman told a queer anecdote, which he said came from very respectable authority, and which he gave as he had heard it.  About ten days before the cholera appeared, a friend of his had accompanied one of the Polish generals, who are now in Paris, a short distance into the country to dine.  On quitting the house, the Pole stopped to gaze intently at the horizon.  His companion inquired what he saw, when, pointing to a hazy appearance in the atmosphere, of rather an unusual kind, the other said, “You will have the cholera here in less than ten days; such appearances always preceded it in the North.”  As M. de ——­ observed, “I tell it as I heard it.”