The church of St. Eustache, close to the Corn Hall, is a very fine gothic edifice with a new Grecian front, surmounted by two square towers. Spires, as in London, are not seen in Paris, all the churches having either domes or towers. The interior of St. Eustache is decorated with some good pictures, and there is a charming statue of the Virgin and child. Its chapels are elegantly fitted up, particularly one, on the door of which there is a label, informing you that it contains the relics of some celebrated saint, whose name I have forgotten.
Next morning, the 21st, I accompanied Mr. G---- to the Lycée d'Henri IV., where the famous young American calculator, Zerah Colburn, was placed for the purpose of being educated. Mr. G. is acquainted with the father of this lad, and I believe is one of the committee, at the head of which is the worthy Alderman Brydges, of London. The boy is there learning Latin, but it is very evident that he has no genius for that expressive poetical language. He is, except on one subject, a very dull boy, and expresses himself so badly that it is difficult to understand his meaning. I put a simple arithmetical question to him, which he quickly answered, and correctly, as I afterwards found. He appears to be losing the talent which has acquired him the patronage of the scientific world, without gaining any thing but habits of indifference to his improvement; in my opinion, it is a loss of time and expense to endeavour to enlarge this boy's understanding by giving him a knowledge of the dead languages. Send him to Leslie or Bonnycastle, and perhaps his extraordinary talent may be improved, but the air of France is too refined for the genius of a plodder.
On our way to the Lycée d'Henri IV. we went into the new church of St. Genevieve, or the Pantheon; this is not yet, I believe, completed within, but from what I saw will be very handsome. It is not, at present, at all fitted up like a church, but is more like the parts of St. Paul's cathedral at London not occupied by the choir.
Below the building is the burying place of the great men of France, but into this we did not enter, the day being wet and cold. Its exterior is very grand, and its dome, after that of the Hôtel des Invalides, the finest in Paris. On the pediment, which is adorned with appropriate sculpture, is this inscription, "Aux grands hommes, la patrie reconnoissante."