forehead, and his nose in the air. Much about the same
time I saw his friend, the first Lord Liverpool, a respectable looking
old gentleman, in a brown wig. Later still, I saw Mr. Fox, fat and
jovial, though he was then declining. He, who had been a "beau" in his
youth, then looked something quaker-like as to dress, with plain colored
clothes, a broad round hat, white waistcoat, and, if I am not mistaken,
white stockings. He was standing in Parliament-street, just where the
street commences as you leave Whitehall; and was making two young
gentlemen laugh heartily at something which he seemed to be relating.

My father once took me--but I can not say at what period of my
juvenility--into both houses of Parliament. In the Commons, I saw Mr.
Pitt sawing the air, and occasionally turning to appeal to those about
him, while he spoke in a loud, important, and hollow voice. When the
persons he appealed to, said "Hear! hear!" I thought they said "Dear!
dear!" in objection; and I wondered that he did not seem in the least
degree disconcerted. The house of Lords, I must say (without meaning
disrespect to an assembly which must always have contained some of the
most accomplished men in the country), surprised me with the personally
insignificant look of its members. I had, to be sure, conceived
exaggerated notions of the magnates of all countries; and perhaps might
have expected to behold a set of conscript fathers; but in no respect,
real or ideal, did they appear to me in their corporate aspect, like any
thing which is understood by the word "noble." The Commons seemed to me
to have the advantage; though they surprised me with lounging on the
benches, and retaining their hats. I was not then informed enough to
know the difference between apparent and substantial importance; much
less aware of the positive exaltation, which that very simplicity, and
that absence of pretension, gave to the most potent assembly in
Europe.--_Leigh Hunt's Autobiography._

[From Household Words.]

A PARIS NEWSPAPER.

Within the precincts of that resort for foreigners and provincials in
Paris, the Palais Royal, is situate the Rue du 24 Fevrier. This
revolutionary name, given after the last outbreak, is still pronounced
with difficulty by those who, of old, were wont to call it the Rue de
Valois. People are becoming accustomed to call the royally named street
by its revolutionary title, although it is probable that no one will
ever succeed