of the Tuileries.  A detachment of the British army occupies Montmartre, where the British flag is flying, and in the Champs Elysees and Bois de Boulogne are encamped several brigades of English and Hanoverians.  The Sovereigns of Russia, Austria and Prussia are expected and then it is said that the fate of France will be decided.  The Army of the Loire has at length made its submission to the King, after stipulating but in vain for the beloved tricolor.  Report says it is to be immediately dissolved and a new army raised with more legitimate inclinations.  Should the King accede to this, France will be completely disarmed and at the mercy of the Allies, and the King himself a state prisoner.  The entrance into Paris, thro’ the Faubourg St Denis, does not give to the stranger who arrives there for the first time a great idea of the magnificence of Paris; he should enter by the Avenue de Neuilly or by the Porte St Antoine, both of which are very striking and superb.

Now you must not expect that I shall or can give you a description of all the fine things that I have seen or am about to see, for they have been so often described before that it would be a perfect waste of time, and I can do better in referring you at once to the Guide des Voyageurs a Paris; so that I shall content myself with merely indicating these objects which make the most impression on me.

My first visit was, as you will have no doubt guessed, to the Palais Royal:  there I breakfasted, there I dined, and there I passed the whole day without the least ennui.  It is a world in itself.  It swarms at present with officers of the Allied army.  The variety of uniforms adds to the splendour and novelty of the scene.  The restaurants and cafes are filled with them.  The Palais Royal is certainly the temple of animal gratification, the paradise of gastronomes.  The officers are indulging in all sorts of luxury, revelling in Champaign and Burgundy, in all the pleasures of the belly, as well as in iis quae sub ventre sunt.  ’Twill be a famous harvest for the restaurateurs and for the Cyprians who parade up and down the Arcades, sure of a constant succession of suitors.  In fact, whatever be the taste of a man, whether sensual or intellectual or both, he can gratify himself here without moving out of the precincts of the Palais Royal.  Here are cafes, restaurants, shops of all kinds whose display of clocks, jewellery, stuffs, silks, merchandize from all parts of the world, is most brilliant and dazzling; here you find reading-rooms where newspapers, reviews and pamphlets of all tongues, nations and languages are to be met with; here are museums of paintings, statues, plans in relief, cosmoramas; here are libraries, gaming houses, houses of fair reception; cellars where music, dancing and all kinds of orgies are carried on; exhibitions of all sorts, learned pigs, dancing dogs, military canary birds, hermaphrodites, giants, dwarf jugglers from Hindostan, catawbas from