poverty. But without the doors, and in all the streets, went on the accustomed movements of toil and of pleasure, the building of houses, the digging of trenches, the traffic of market people and tradesmen, the review of troops, the rush of throngs intent on amusement, as if the Almighty had not from the beginning set apart for himself a day of sacred rest. To one inured to the quietness and hallowed observance of a New England Sabbath, this desecration is peculiarly painful.
The pulpit eloquence of France is with much more gesticulation than in England, or our own country. Indeed, the vehement style marks most of the public speaking that we heard there; at the Bourse, where the merchants negotiate sales of stock, and transact other business, at the very top of their voices; in the tribunals, where the advocates plead with their whole bodily force; and in the Chamber of Deputies, where the exciting question of war with England was one morning discussed with such violence, as to excite apprehensions that it might end in actual combat.
The Pantheon, formerly the Church of Genevieve, is a splendid structure, and its dome, being the most elevated one in Paris, affords an extensive prospect. Beneath its pavement is a vast series of vaults, with roofs supported by Tuscan columns, and containing funeral urns, after the fashion of the Roman tombs at Pompeii. While following the dim lamp of our guide, we traversed this subterranean city of the dead, we
