ion to M. Beranger, the
poet; and although I had to converse with him through an interpreter, I
enjoyed his company very much. "The people's poet," as he is called, is
apparently about seventy years of age, bald on the top of the head, and
rather corpulent, but of active look, and in the enjoyment of good
health. Few writers in France have done better service to the cause of
political and religious freedom, than Pierre Jean de Beranger. He is the
dauntless friend and advocate of the down-trodden poor and oppressed,
and has often incurred the displeasure of the Government by the arrows
that he has thrown into their camp. He felt what he wrote; it came
straight from his heart, and went directly to the hearts of the people.
He expressed himself strongly opposed to slavery, and said, "I don't
see how the Americans can reconcile slavery with their professed love of
freedom." Dinner out of the way, a walk through the different
apartments, and a stroll over the court, and I bade adieu to the Palais
Royal, satisfied that I should partake of many worse dinners than I had
helped to devour that day.

Few nations are more courteous than the French. Here the stranger, let
him come from what country he may, and be ever so unacquainted with the
people and language, he is sure of a civil reply to any question that he
may ask. With the exception of the egregious blunder I have mentioned of
the cabman driving me to the Elysee, I was not laughed at once while in
France.

LETTER VIII.

_Departure from Paris--Boulogne--Folkstone--London--Geo. Thompson, Esq.,
M.P.--Hartwell House--Dr. Lee--Cottage of the Peasant--Windsor
Castle--Residence of Wm. Penn--England's First Welcome--Heath Lodge--The
Bank of England._

LONDON, _Sept. 8th_.

The sun had just appeared from behind a cloud and was setting, and its
reflection upon the domes and spires of the great buildings in Paris
made everything appear lovely and sublime, as the train, with almost
lightning speed, was bringing me from the French metropolis. I gazed
with eager eyes to catch a farewell glance of the tops of the regal
palaces through which I had passed, during a stay of fifteen days in the
French capital.

A pleasant ride of four hours brought us to Boulogne, where we rested
for the night. The next morning I was up at an early hour, and out
viewing the town. Boulogne could present but little attraction, after a
fortnight spent in seeing the lions of Pa