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<h2>Letter 28.</h2> Paris. Dear Charley:— On a fine morning we rode over to the Jardin des Plantes, accompanied by Mr. R——, whose long residence has made him very familiar with this lovely spot. I think we all looked forward to this excursion with great anticipation, because we knew that this was the most famous garden in Europe; and then, in connection with it, are the richest cabinets in the world of natural history, mineralogy, geology, and a noble collection of living animals from all countries. Ever since 1635, the world has been placed under contribution to enrich this spot. The greatest botanists and naturalists of Europe have labored here. Buffon himself was the great man of the place in his day. Even revolutionary fury spared this retreat and treasury of Nature. Bonaparte made it his pet, and when the troops of Europe were at the walls of Paris, they agreed to respect and preserve the spot so dear to science. This establishment is on the banks of the river, and there are many portals by which entrance may be obtained. The gardens are very large, but I cannot speak of their exact size. They are in the neatest order. Every shrub and flower, plant and tree, is labelled, so that reference is easy. I was delighted to see, on a lofty eminence, the cedar of Lebanon. It is a glorious tree, and was planted here in 1734, and is now about twelve feet round at its base. We also saw some palm-trees which were given by Louis XIV. They were, I should think, nearly thirty feet high. The Menagerie has long been famous, and is most admirably laid out in walks and enclosures, so that the animals have plenty of room for exercise and pasture. Since the days of Noah's ark, I suppose there never was such a collection of animals, clean and unclean. The bears, elephants, lions, and tigers are all what are called first-rate specimens. We were pointed out the house where the celebrated Cuvier lived, and which was his favorite residence. Here was his life's labor, the Zoölogical Cabinet, which he arranged according to his system. Only fancy a house about four hundred feet long, having three stories, and all filled up with nearly two hundred thousand specimens; and the preparations are almost as fine as the animal was in life. The Museum of Comparative Anatomy, also, was the labor of Cuvier. The collections of mineralogy and geology are very extensive; but I did not have much time to examine them, nor are they as much in my line as some other things. The specimens of precious stones were curious, and I was pleased to see amber containing perfect insects, perhaps antediluvian insects. And so we employed three hours upon what I should have liked to pass three whole days. But it would take years of diligent study to understand what is here to be seen. If a person walks about Paris and inquires much as to the history of the city and its improvements, as we Americans say, he will soon find that Paris has been chiefly indebted for her grandeur to Henry IV., Louis XIV., Napoleon, and Louis Philippe. Bridges, places, arches, and fountains show how much Paris owes to these rulers. Of fountains there are, I should think, nearly a hundred in the city, and some are exceedingly fine. The Seine is not much of an affair. With us, it would be only a muddy brook. Some of the bridges that span it are fine. I have seen nothing in Paris more picturesque than the prospect from the Pont Neuf. It is my favorite stand point. Off to the right are the towers of Notre Dame, and the long line of old houses which tell of centuries upon centuries since they were built; and on the left of the river are the Hotel de Ville, St. Germain L'Auxerrois; and some of the most venerable streets. From the bell tower of St. Germain the signal was rung for the infamous massacre of the Protestants, on St. Bartholomew's eve, 23d of August, 1572. In the Rue de l'Arbre sec, at No. 14, was Admiral Coligny murdered on that occasion. It was formerly known as the Hotel Ponthieu, but is to be demolished in a few weeks, to make way for improvements. We felt a desire to see the spot where the Bastile formerly stood, and which was destroyed by the mob in July, 1789, and the key of which is now at Mount Vernon, having been sent as a present to Washington. This was the theatre of the greatest resistance made by the insurgents in June, 1848; and here, too, it was that the Archbishop of Paris met with his death. On the site of the Bastile, Louis Philippe laid the foundation of a column which commemorates the revolution of 1830. This column is of bronze, and is one hundred and sixty-three feet high, in addition to the pedestal of white marble, supported by immense granite blocks. The diameter of the column is, I believe, twelve feet, and it cost about twelve hundred thousand francs. There is no masonry in the interior. The staircase is suspended, and the whole concern vibrates with the passing breeze. I did not ascend, you may be sure. The Corinthian capital, over which is a gallery with rails, is very beautiful, and is the largest casting in bronze that is known—or, rather, was, for I think that the Amazon at the London Exhibition will take the palm for size. On the globe which surmounts the pillar stands a colossal gilt figure, which represents Liberty. On the bands which encircle the pillar are the names of  those who were killed in the three days of July, amounting to fire hundred and four. All around and beneath are interred the remains of these patriots. <div class="figcenter"> <ANTIMG src="images/pg199_th.png" width-obs="174" height-obs="400" alt="Colonne de Juillet." title="Colonne de Juillet." />Colonne de Juillet.</div> We are going to take the Cemetery at Père la Chaise for to-morrow's excursion; and the rest of the day I must devote to letters home, as the packet day is close at hand. Yours, weld. <hr style="width: 65%;" /> <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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