ereigns; and lastly, to those
later days, when the names of religion and of loyalty have alike been
forgotten; when the national exultation reposed only on the trophies of
military greatness, and the iron yoke of imperial power was forgotten in
the monuments which record the deeds of imperial glory.

To the general observation on the inferiority of the common buildings in
Paris, there are some remarkable exceptions. The Boulevards, the remains
of the ancient ramparts of the city, are in general beautiful, from
their circular form, from their uniform breadth, from the magnificence
of the detached palaces with which they abound, and from the rows of
fine trees with which they are shaded. In the skirts of the town, and
more especially in the Fauxbourg St Germain, the beauty of the streets
is greatly increased by the detached hotels or villas, surrounded by
gardens, which are everywhere to be met with, in which the lilac, the
laburnum, the Bois de Judee, and the acacia, grow in the most luxuriant
manner, and on the green foliage of which the eye reposes with singular
delight amidst the bright and dazzling whiteness of the stone with
which they are surrounded.

The Hotel des Invalides, the Chelsea Hospital of France, is one of the
objects on which the Parisians principally pride themselves, and to
which a stranger is conducted immediately after his arrival in that
capital. The institution itself appears to be well conducted, and to
give general satisfaction to the wounded men who have there found an
asylum from the miseries of war. We were informed that these men live in
habits of perfect harmony among each other; a state of things widely
different from that of our veterans in Greenwich Hospital, and which is
probably chiefly owing to the cheerfulness and equanimity of temper
which form the best feature in the French character. There is something
in the style of the architecture of this building, which accords well
with the object to which it is devoted. The front is distinguished by a
simple manly portico, and a dome of the finest proportion rises above
its centre, which is visible from all parts of the city. This dome was
gilded by order of Bonaparte: and however much a fastidious taste may
regret the addition, it certainly gave an air of splendour to the whole,
which was in perfect unison with the feelings of exultation which the
sight of this monument of military glory was then fitted to awaken
among the French people.