corresponding to the fire-place;
immediately below is a sort of Rostrum from whence the Members speak, in
situation like the lecturer of the R.I. In point of decoration and
external appearance both of house and members, it is far superior to our
House of Commons, as all the members wear uniforms of blue and gold, but
taking it all together I know not that anything can be more illustrative
of the French Character--externally all correct and delightful, but
within "a sad rottenness of the state of Denmark."

The president began the proceedings by ringing a bell; a paper was then
read detailing, I believe, the orders of the day. A member then arose
and went to the Rostrum. In the middle of his speech he was called to
order and told it was a very bad speech, so down he came and another
mounted. He was equally disliked, for they told him he spoke too low and
they could not hear him, so he disappeared; then half a dozen got up and
were so impatient that they began speaking altogether before they
reached the Tribune. In vain did the President ring his bell, and stand
up and gesticulate. Silence, however, was at length obtained, and he
addressed them, but with little better success than the rest. One man
then stept forward and did obtain a hearing, for he had good lungs and a
fair share of eloquence. His speech was short, but it was by far the
best; his name was Dumolard.[56] Soon afterwards the sitting broke up;
the whole took up little more than an hour. I know not whether the
perfect want of order was more ridiculous or disgusting; the sittings of
the Senate (Peers) are private....

We will now take you to Malmaison, the interesting retreat of the
interesting Josephine. Her character was scarcely known in England. We
hear little more of her than as a discarded Empress or Mistress of
Buonaparte's, but she had much to recommend her to public as well as
private notice. The French all speak highly of her, and it is
impossible, on seeing Malmaison and hearing of her virtues, not to join
in their opinion. To be sure, as a Frenchman told me in running through
a list of virtues, "Elle avait ete un peu libertine, mais ce n'est rien
cela," and, indeed, I could almost have added, "C'est bien vrai," for
every allowance should be made; consider the situation in which she was
placed, her education, her temptations; many a saint might have fallen
from the eminence on which she stood; I never dwelt with more
satisfaction or felt more incl