A bas-relief, by Cortat, representing Louis in conference with his Counsel, is here seen.  But I had visited too many places of interest during the day to remain long in a building surrounded by officers of justice, and took a stroll upon the Boulevards.

The Boulevards may be termed the Regent Street of Paris, or a New Yorker would call them Broadway.  While passing a cafe, my German friend Faigo, whose company I had enjoyed during the passage from America, recognised me, and I sat down and took a cup of delicious coffee for the first time on the side walk, in sight of hundreds who were passing up and down the street every hour.  From three till eleven o’clock, P.M., the Boulevards are lined with men and women sitting before the doors of the saloons drinking their coffee or wines, or both at the same time, as fancy may dictate.  All Paris appeared to be on the Boulevards, and looking as if the great end of this life was enjoyment.

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Anxious to see as much as possible of Paris in the limited time I had to stay in it, I hired a cab yesterday morning and commenced with the Hotel des Invalids, a magnificent building, within a few minutes’ walk of the National Assembly.  On each side of the entrance gate are figures representing nations conquered by Louis XIV., with colossal statues of Mars and Minerva.  The dome on the edifice is the loftiest in Paris—­the height from the ground being 323 feet.

Immediately below the dome is the tomb of the man at whose word the world turned pale.  A statue of the Emperor Napoleon stands in the second piazza, and is of the finest bronze.

This building is the home of the pensioned soldiers of France.  It was enough to make one sick at the idea of war, to look upon the mangled bodies of these old soldiers.  Men with arms and no legs; others had legs but no arms; some with canes and crutches, and some wheeling themselves about in little hand carts.  About three thousand of the decayed soldiers were lodged in the Hotel des Invalids, at the time of my visit.  Passing the National Assembly on my return, I spent a moment or two in it.  The interior of this building resembles an amphitheatre.  It is constructed to accommodate 900 members, each having a separate desk.  The seat upon which the Duchesse of Orleans, and her son, the Comte de Paris, sat, when they visited the National Assembly after the flight of Louis Philippe, was shown with considerable alacrity.  As I left the building, I heard that the President of the Republic was on the point of leaving the Elysee for St. Cloud, and with the hope of seeing the “Prisoner of Ham,” I directed my cabman to drive me to the Elysee.