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begged to assist in the escort, service, and interment of Mr. Emanuel-Prosper Renou, deceased the 24th of June, at the age of forty-seven years, in his domicile, Rue de Bonsecours. Which will take place Tuesday, June 25th, at four o'clock, very exactly, in the church St. Martin, his parish. To meet at the mortuary house. De Profundis! On the part of his family, and of Messrs. -, his associates." Here are given the names of eight persons with whom he was connected in business. It will be observed that the interment is to take place the day after the death. I wonder whether this can be owing to persons living in such close or crowded apartinents? But then I observe afterwards that the same custom prevails in central France. The use of ice in Paris has been hitherto greatly limited in comparison with ours; this may have some effect in this matter. As regards the funeral just mentioned, it will observed that it was in a church. Strong republicans, or those greatly opposed to the Church, do not desire these religious funerals, which are a source of income to the clergy.

In walking the streets lately, I saw a grated door with the words, "Succor for the wounded ;" and in the half-light within were to be seen several men,-a part or all of them in uniform. What a consolation! If you are crushed by the horse and carriage of any of these dashing drivers, here is succor! But is it not strange that such driving should be permitted by such a careful people on such crowded streets? Is it the relic of a time when men who walked were of little consequence in comparison with men who rode ?

I have seen some cars and horses about as shabby as our own,-those of the North Paris Street Railway; but the horses of the omnibus which I take to-day-that from St.

Augustine's to the Pantheon-are magnificent specimens. Two women who are in the omnibus wear no bonnets, but peculiarly-shaped caps. A lady tells me that they are Bretons. They are neatly dressed; perhaps they have come to the Exposition. They wear black sacks, they carry silk umbrellas, and one of them has ear-rings.

As I am going into the country, I want to try and preserve some insects to take home to America; and for some time I have been trying to get chloroform wherewith to stupefy them. There is a druggist upon our street, and when I enter the shop on this errand, I find Mrs. Apothecary at a little side-desk, seated with her crocheting, and the account-book open before her. She tells me, however, that they are not allowed to sell a very small quantity of chloroform, even to their neighbors or friends, without the order of a physician. In further conversation with the apothecary's wife, I learn that, in case of the death of her husband, the law allows her a year in which to settle his estate; but she says that women have no right in France to put up prescriptions nor to prepare medicines.*

My next effort at obtaining chloroform is by writing to the doctor, him of whom I have before spoken. Victor tells me that I shall not be able to get an order from him, but we will see. I therefore write him a note, and wish to enclose a return stamp, but Victor insists that this is not necessary, or is not the custom. I write to the doctor that I am a member of a scientific society, and that I want chloroform to kill or stupefy insects. Although Victor

*Please observe what is said hereinafter upon this subject, in Part II.

says that I shall not get it, yet I am sure that I shall, for can I not go to Professor, of the College of France, him to whom I took a letter of introduction? I also write to my kind American friend, who has been long resident here, and speak, among other subjects, upon this chloroform difficulty; but, although she quickly answers my letter, I find nothing in her reply upon this subject.

Victor is right so far. I receive no answer from the doctor, and I conclude, instead of trying the professor, to go and see an official of some importance in this department of the Seine,-one whose acquaintance I made some time ago. I will not tell where I go, but when I arrive at the building, I do not find him. I have armed myself in coming with recommendations which I brought from our own country, and these I show to the secretary or aid of the gentleman. I think that he appreciates the situation, for he takes me to another gentleman in the same department. When I show the latter my letters, and talk with him, how pleasant he is!-doubtless he has a taste for natural science himself,--and he takes a sheet of paper with an official heading, and writes, "Mr. Ménard, will he give satisfaction to Mrs. G-?" (He does not say give chloroform!) Then he tells me where I shall find the druggist, who is not far off,-and I do find him in his store. He is a pharmacian of the first class, as they say at Paris. When he sees my note from the official, and one or more of my credentials from home, he allows an assistant to put me up a bottle of chloroform,—which is done in a very careful, nice manner, and the druggist writes down my name in a book. He tells me that this law of France concerning poisons was passed after the case of Madame Lafarge. This was a celebrated trial of a woman

for poisoning her husband, of which she was found guilty, in 1840.

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The druggist tells me that no one can sell certain medicaments in France without a diploma. This rule, I understand, does not include the simple remedies sold by the herborist, such things, apparently, as Victor has in his box, but applies to those who sell poisons, and probably to those who compound the prescriptions of physicians. Drugstores in Paris are not large and showy. Several things that our druggists sell these do not, no mineral water, I think, nor brushes, nor perfumes. For these last you go to the perfumer.

The druggist who sells me the chloroform is an agreeable person. He speaks favorably of two articles in our department at the Exposition,-namely, the exhibit of Tilden & Co., druggists, of New York, and the vegetable preparations of the College of Pharmacy of Philadelphia.

When I return to our apartments, of course I do not refrain from showing Victor the bottle of chloroform.

To-day I visit that very celebrated church, Notre Dame. After entering I observe a light in a side-chapel, that of St. Anne, a light burning before the altar, and beside it an ancient piece of printing, "Litanies of St. Anne." There is a long list like the following: "Saint Anne, root of Jesse, Saint Anne, fruitful tree, pray for us; Saint Anne, tongue of the dumb, Saint Anne, ear of the deaf, pray for us." After the long litany comes this prayer: "God, all-powerful and eternal, who have deigned to choose St. Anne to be the mother of the mother of your only Son, cause, if you please, that as we thus celebrate her

memory we attain by her prayers to eternal life. By Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen."

There are a considerable number of visitors in Notre Dame to-day, and one person has it in charge to escort the English. He is a talkative little fellow, but his remarks seem to be framed on the supposition that all who speak English are subjects of Great Britain; though, doubtless, he is not ignorant of the existence of our great republic. The few notes that I gather from his remarks I will try to form into a connected narrative. He tells us what those disgusting creatures, the Communists, did, how they broke the heads off of statues here, which have since been repaired. He shows us the elegant vestments-twenty, I think, in number-which the late Empress Eugenie gave them, and another magnificent set which Napoleon III. presented at the baptism of his son; also a golden vessel which, if I understand aright, he says contains the crown of thorns, a present from Napoleon I. He informs us that, as the revolutionists were in the habit of taking up the bodies of the kings and throwing them into the street, these have been removed to some distance to St. Denis, and now there is a fortification there or upon the way; and, although these people like the smell of powder, yet it is at a distance that they like it. He is speaking English, and an English-speaking gentleman inquires of him whether Father Hyacinth did not preach here. But this question does not disconcert him much; he replies immediately, intimating that that individual has changed his coat; but as for himself, he has always been a Bonapartist, and is one still. (Methinks he would not venture upon such a discourse in French.) He offers a book for sale, and tells us that, as it was written by himself, we may be sure it is not republican. Further, he shows us where in this great

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