Madame E----, who is considered the first dilettante mistress of music in Paris, related to me, an experiment which she once tried upon a young woman who was totally deaf and dumb. Madame E---- fastened a silk thread about her mouth, and rested the other end upon her piano forte, upon which she played a pathetic air. Her visitor soon appeared much affected, and at length burst into tears. When she recovered, she wrote down upon a piece of paper, that she had experienced a delight, which she could not express, and that it had forced her to weep.
I must reluctantly retire from this pleasing subject, by wishing that the abbé may long enjoy a series of blissful years, and that his noble endeavours, "manifesting the enlightened times in which we live," may meet with that philanthropic success, which, to _his_ generous mind, will be its most desired reward _here_; assured, as he is, of being crowned with those unfading remunerations which are promised to the good _hereafter_.
[Illustration: _Bagatelle in the Bois de Boulogne._]
I one day dined at Bagatelle, which is about four miles from Paris, in the Bois du Bologne, the parisian Hyde Park, in which the fashionable equestrian, upon his norman hunter,
--------------------------"with heel insidiously aside, Provokes the canter which he seems to chide."
The duellist also, in the covert windings of this vast wood, seeks reparation for the trifling wrong, and bleeds himself, or slaughters his antagonist. Bagatelle was formerly the elegant little palace of the count d'Artois. The gardens and grounds belonging to it, are beautifully disposed. What a contrast to the gloomy shades of Holyrood House, in which the royal fugitive, and his wretched followers, have found an asylum!
The building and gardens are in the taste of the Petit Trianon, but inferior to it. As usual, it is the residence of cooks, and scullions, tenants of the government, who treat their visitors with good dinners, and excellent wine, and take good care to make them pay handsomely for their faultless fare.
Returning to my hotel rather late at night, I passed through the Champs Elisees, which, at this hour, seemed to be in all its glory. Every "alley green," was filled with whispering lovers. On all sides the sounds of festivity, of music, and dancing, regaled the ear. The weather was very sultry, and being a little fatigued with rather a long walk, I entered through a trellis palisade into a capacious pavilion, where I refreshed myself with lemonade.