We have this morning been visiting two objects, which exhibit this country in very different points of view—­as the seat of wealth, and the abode of poverty.  The first is the abbey of St. Vaast, a most superb pile, now inhabited by monks of various orders, but who are preparing to quit it, in obedience to the late decrees.  Nothing impresses one with a stronger idea of the influence of the Clergy, than these splendid edifices.  We see them reared amidst the solitude of deserts, and in the gaiety and misery of cities; and while they cheer the one and embellish the other, they exhibit, in both, monuments of indefatigable labour and immense wealth.—­The facade of St. Vaast is simple and striking, and the cloisters and every other part of the building are extremely handsome.  The library is supposed to be the finest in France, except the King’s, but is now under the seal of the nation.  A young monk, who was our Cicerone, told us he was sorry it was not in his power to show it. "Et nous, Monsieur, nous sommes faches aussi."—­["And we are not less sorry than yourself, Sir.”]

Thus, with the aid of significant looks, and gestures of disapprobation, an exchange of sentiments took place, without a single expression of treasonable import:  both parties understood perfectly well, that in regretting that the library was inaccessible, each included all the circumstances which attended it.—­A new church was building in a style worthy of the convent—­I think, near four hundred feet long; but it was discontinued at the suppression of the religious orders, and will now, of course, never be finished.

From this abode of learned case and pious indolence Mr. de ____ conducted
us to the Mont de Piete, a national institution for lending money to the
poor on pledges, (at a moderate interest,) which, if not redeemed within
a year, are sold by auction, and the overplus, if there remain any, after
deducting the interest, is given to the owner of the pledge.   Thousands
of small packets are deposited here, which, to the eye of affluence,
might seem the very refuse of beggary itself.—­I could not reflect
without an heart-ache, on the distress of the individual, thus driven to
relinquish his last covering, braving cold to satisfy hunger, and
accumulating wretchedness by momentary relief.   I saw, in a lower room,
groupes of unfortunate beings, depriving themselves of different parts of
their apparel, and watching with solicitude the arbitrary valuations;
others exchanging some article of necessity for one of a still greater—­
some in a state of intoxication, uttering execrations of despair; and all
exhibiting a picture of human nature depraved and miserable.—­While I was
viewing this scene, I recalled the magnificent building we had just left,
and my first emotions were those of regret and censure.   When we only
feel, and have not leisure to reflect, we are indignant that vast sums
should be expended on sumptuous edifices, and that the poor should live