Chapter III · FIRST JOURNEY IN EUROPE. 1838-1839. (continued 2)

I spent this morning at the British Museum; dined with Mr. Putnam at a chop-house, and went to spend the evening at Mr. Quekett’s. I found, instead of having the evening alone as I expected and wished, that he had invited several friends, most of whom I knew. Still, after tea the microscopes were produced, and I had the opportunity of examining very many curious things.

If they don’t get out of my head in the mean time I will try to mention some of them to Dr. Torrey when I go on with my letter to him. As eating is a very important matter here, we had a magnificent supper at half past ten, and it was near twelve when I left, with a walk of four miles before me....

Saturday evening.—This has been a busy and somewhat interesting day with me. I rose early, went down to Bentham’s to breakfast, stayed until eleven o’clock, and then went up to Brown’s house to spend the morning, according to previous appointment. We talked profound botanical matters, and Brown not only amused and interested me, but gave me much valuable information. He talks of visiting America, possibly next summer, and I have promised to plan him a route. I left him about four o’clock, returned to my lodgings, dressed hastily, took a Kensington omnibus, and reached old Mr. Menzies’ little place at five. Mr. Ward, who was to meet us, was not there. We left at half past ten, and walked all the way back, about four miles. So here I am safe again. I read over the doctor’s short letter again. I am trying to imagine how Herbert looks now. He has probably changed very much since I parted from him. I have a very especial love for that little fellow.[72] I must find time to write to the girls, yet fear I shall scarcely be able until I have left London. Tell them I think of them daily even if I cannot write them. As to M’s French letter, it is not due until I get to France; but that will, I trust, be soon. Adieu. Good-night.

Sunday, February 24. I was fortunate this morning in being able to hear a man I had heard spoken of, and of whom I had formed a high opinion: the Rev. Thomas Dale, Vicar of St. Bride’s, who also preaches in the evening at St. Sepulcre’s. He preached from the first part of Luke vii. 47: “Her sins, which are many, are forgiven; for she loved much.” The discourse was truly evangelical and impressive. He is the best preacher I have heard in England next to Mr. Noel, and is more eloquent and striking in manner than he, but has not the gentle pathos and sweetness of Noel....

Tuesday evening, February 26.... Met Mr. Putnam[73] at half past four. We had arranged beforehand that he should attempt to procure some orders for admittance to the House of Lords, and that we should go down together. I found he had been successful, having sent his clerk with notes to some half dozen peers in order to make sure, and he thus obtained more orders than he wanted. For me I found he had addressed a note in my name to the Bishop of London, who very promptly sent me an order of admittance.

We set out accordingly. The room which is occupied by the House of Lords temporarily, until the New Houses of Parliament are built, is inferior in size and accommodation to that of the Commons; indeed there is nothing about it at all remarkable. There was no business of very absorbing interest before the House this evening, and it adjourned as early as eight. Still I had the good fortune to hear nearly all those speak that I particularly cared for except Wellington (who is sick) and Earl Durham. I heard a long speech from Brougham and a very good one, except that he took occasion to trumpet his own good works. There was some fine sparring between an Irish lord I do not remember, Lord Roden, Lord Westmeath, and Lord Normanby, the late viceroy of Ireland, a young man apparently, and a man of talent, Melbourne, and Minto; the lord chancellor, Denman the chief justice, Sir James Scarlett, old Lord Holland, etc., also spoke. The word “lengthy,” which was not long since called an Americanism, seems to be pretty well naturalized, as Brougham used it several times, and Scarlett more than once. Lord Palmerston the other evening used the word “ disculpate” instead of “exculpate,” which I fancy is rather modern English....

Friday evening, 12 o’clock, March 1.—I have just returned from a most pleasant evening and day, as I may say, spent at Mr. Forster’s beautiful residence on the border of Epping Forest, Essex (Woodford), about ten miles from here. He is an old man, a banker, one of the oldest vice-presidents of the Linnæan Society, one of the most kind-hearted men, exceedingly beloved. He lives in an elegant but very unostentatious way, in a most beautiful part of the country, the very perfection of English scenery. He is said to be extremely benevolent, and to do a world of good....

Saturday evening.—Immediately after breakfast this morning I went down to Bentham, whom I had not seen for a week; spent two or three hours there, returned again to my lodgings, went to the City, took an early dinner with Mr. Putnam, and then we went together in an omnibus to Hackney; saw Loddiges’ extensive collections of fine plants again, lovely Orchideæ. The Camellias, of which he has a large house filled with magnificent trees, were not yet in bloom.

... We walked across this eastern part of the city down to the Tower, entered the gates and walked over the grounds. It was too late to get entrance to the armory or any of the interesting places, as the light was beginning to fail. I went back to Mr. Ward’s, at Well-close Square, according to promise, to name some plants for him, but Dr. Valentine,[74] a most ingenious vegetable anatomist and microscopist, being in town (had previously met him at Lindley’s), Mr. Ward had foregone his own advantage and invited Valentine and Quekett to meet me with their microscopes, so that the evening was very instructive to me, which I had not anticipated. Mr. Ward seems to have taken a fancy to me, for I can hardly imagine that he takes so much pains to oblige every one, absorbed as he is also in medical practice. He presented me with a beautiful botanical digger of fine polished steel, with a leathern sheath, which I suspect he has had made on purpose for me; though I don’t know why he should have thought of it. Mrs. Ward was inquiring about the Abbotts and their works, one of which she had, which makes her wish for more. I am often asked about Mr. Abbott, whose works seem much more generally known here than those of any other American religious author. I must find some for Mrs. Ward.

Sunday evening, March 3.—I went this morning to hear, perhaps for the last time, Baptist Noel. The sermon was from the last three verses of the same psalm (Ps. ciii.) from which he has preached on the former occasions when I have heard him in his own church; and truly a good sermon it was. I have told you that the chapel is a large one. Yet it is so well filled that I have always had some difficulty in getting a seat, and to-day I actually stood near the pulpit during the whole service and sermon. But it is worth while submitting to some inconvenience. In the afternoon I walked up to Tottenham Court Road, and looked up the chapel built by Whitfield, the scene of his useful labors in London. If you read, as I think you did, Philip’s “Life of Whitfield,” you must take some interest in this place.[75] I found the chapel a large but outlandish building, with an inscription over one of the entrances, stating that the building was erected by George Whitfield. Within is a tablet to the memory of Mrs. Whitfield, who is buried here, and a monumental inscription to Whitfield himself (which I regret I did not copy), mentioning the date of his death at Newburyport, near Boston. The preacher this afternoon (for I believe there is more than one who officiates here) was the Rev. Mr. Wight, who gave an impressive, practical sermon from the concluding clause of the last verse of Romans viii.: “The love of God which is in Christ Jesus our Lord.” It was, I think, rather above his audience, which I am sorry to say was exceedingly small. Indeed I hope it is generally better filled, but I should not have expected so great a falling off in the attendance of plain unfashionable people in the afternoon. These Whitfieldians are, one would think, farther separated from the Established Church than Wesleyans (which was certainly not the case in Whitfield’s time, who refused to take any steps to establish a sect apart from the Church of England); for in the Wesleyan chapel I attended the liturgy was read, but here we had none of it. Only last summer I read a biography of Whitfield with much attention; and it was very interesting to worship in this chapel of his. It recalls more interesting associations than Westminster Abbey or any vast and splendid cathedral. But I must bid you good-night, purposing to rise early and have an hour or so before the pressing business of the day is commenced to write another sheet to you and our good Dr. Torrey, to whom I have so much to say, if I could ever find time for it.

Friday.—I have been to-day at the British Museum, studying from the specimens of Plukenet, Catesby, Miller, etc., etc., the authority for old Linnæan species in Ilex, Prinos, Eupatorium, etc. It is slow and tedious work, and I shall not have time to do so much of it as I could wish. Brown told me to-day about Petalanthera. It is Cevallis, Lagasca, Hortus Matritensis, and very probably his species, even C. sinuata. It came from New Spain. You will see Lindley is all astray about the genus, and no one knows its affinities even, but Brown. Lagasca himself refers it to Boragineæ. It is true Loaseæ. I was this evening at Bentham’s, and found he had a specimen of C. sinuata from Hooker, collected by Brydges in Mexico, I think. I have asked Brown to give us some notes on the subject, a generic character, etc., that we may publish a little from his own pen. I am to spend a day with him next week, and I will try to get something out of him. He hinted to me some days ago that he knew something about Cyrilla, but I could not get it out of him. I’ll try again. He tells me he has a character to distinguish true Rhexia, which has escaped Don, De Candolle, etc. We must find it out. Bentham has given me his “Scrophulariæ Indicæ,” and the three last parts of his “Labiatæ;” I have bought the rest (£1 2s. 6d.), and last evening we looked over his North American specimens, and the notes in his copy. He gave me also, the other day, the only published part of the “Plantæ Hugelianæ” and a few other pamphlets. He is a liberal soul.

I have got so far behind in my botanical news that I despair of bringing up arrears, and must leave very much to tell you in propria persona, if we meet again. I fancy I have not very much new to learn on the Continent about microscopes and modes of working. I have seen much of all the best people here, last not least Valentine, who lives in the country, from whom I have derived much useful knowledge. He works to some account, which can’t be said of most here, who, though they have the best instruments in the world, don’t turn them to any important account. As to Sullivant, tell him to have great patience. I can get him a capital simple microscope by Ross for six guineas, but I want to get as useful a one for him cheaper, so I shall wait till I have been on the Continent, I think. My plan is to purchase at Paris for him, where the low powers are good as can be, and supply a lens or two here....

Chapmannia (!) exists in Bartram’s old collection here, which you saw at British Museum, and some other very lately published things.

I bought a copy of “Flora” for Bennett the other day, thinking it worth while to offer him something, as I was taking up much of his time. To-day he gave me a copy of the published part of the “Plantæ Javanicæ Rariores,” (£2 10s., plain, is the publishing price), an invaluable work, containing very many notes and observations on various genera, etc., both by Brown and himself, which it is quite necessary we should see. The notes I have made for the last few days are not now before me, so that I cannot now give you any remarks. There is no one thing of very considerable importance, but much small matter. By the way, let me say that Bennett thinks that Brown thinks Romanzovia to be hydrophyllaceous! Bentham would give something to know this, but I shall keep it to myself. I have made out the remainder of Pursh’s doubtful Arenarias and Stellarias front the Banks herbarium. The parcel of Solidagos, etc., sent to care of Mr. Putnam, I am glad to say, came to hand. It did not arrive until last week, however....

Monday evening, twelve o’clock.... As I sit down to tell you what I have been about to-day, my thoughts cross the wide wave that separates us, and brings me back to 30 MacDougal Street, and to the time when, returning from town, I used to present myself before you, give an account of my proceedings, tell you perhaps some news about that ill-fated expedition of which you were so sick of hearing; how it would certainly sail in a month, or something just as likely. When thinking of this long separation, I console myself with the idea that it is better than if I had gone there. In that case I should now have been your antipodes. Now there are only some four or five hours of shadow between us. And, sluggard as you call me at home, I am up in the morning two or three hours before you. Tell that to the girls for a wonder! I left my room this morning at eleven, walked to Portland Place, called on the American minister, who being unwell I was furnished by the secretary of legation with what I desired, namely, a passport. This I left, as the manner is, at the office of the French embassy, that his majesty Louis Philippe may have fitting notice of the honor that is to be done him, for the king of the French is, it seems, rather particular abut such matters, and it is a pity not to oblige him, especially as you can’t help yourself. This being done I went on to the Linnæan Society, and by working at the full stretch of my powers contrived to get through the Linnæan herbarium (skipping a few genera now and then) about six o’clock. Returned home pretty well fatigued, took some tea and toast, called upon Bentham, whom I found writing letters of introduction for me. I have them now before me. They are addressed to Seringe at Lyons; Requien, Avignon; Lady Bentham (B.’s mother) at Montpellier, with request to make me acquainted with Dunal and Delile; Moretti at Pavia; Visiani at Padua; Tomasini at Triest; Unger at Gratz; Endlicher at Vienna; Martius and Schultes at Munich; Reichenbach at Dresden; Pöppig at Leipsic. These, with what I have already from Hooker, Arnott, Greville, Boott, etc., with a few that I expect at Paris, leave me little to wish for in this respect. About ten o’clock went to Mrs. Stevenson’s party. It was not a very large one, and in no way especially remarkable. I found there of course the Bootts (three sizes, viz., Mrs. Boott the grandmother, Mrs. Boott the mother, and Miss Boott the daughter) and so of course I was upon good footing. Our minister lives in neat but by no means splendid style, quite enough so for a republican; and Mrs. S. is very lady-like and prepossessing in appearance. Mr. Stevenson did not make his appearance. Of course, I did not stay long.

TO JOHN TORREY.

Poor Hunneman died yesterday, after a short illness. I have spent much time evenings with Mr. Valentine, whom I like extremely. Excepting only Brown, he is the best microscopical observer in Great Britain. He cares little, however, for proper systematic botany, for which I am sorry. He has shown me some curious things.

I have learned from Brown the character he observed in our species of Rhexia, that is, the true genus Rhexia: the unilocularity of the anthers....

Tuesday evening, March 12.—After a hard day’s work I finished on Monday evening with the Linnæan herbarium, which I found more interesting than I expected and more satisfactory, as it is in really good state, carefully taken care of, etc. I had some very good notes to make. I assure you I feel much gratified to have studied this collection, which, with the Gronovian, enables us to start fair as to Linnæan species. Do you know that Acer saccharinum, Linn., is A. eriocarpum (spec. Kalm)! Look at Linnæus “Species Plantarum” (which you have not, unfortunately, though it is the most necessary of books; you will receive it at the same time as this letter or nearly) and you will find that the description is all drawn from Eriocarpum.

I took what time I could to-day for the Gronovian plants and a few of Plukenet’s, etc., but was unable to finish; will go to-morrow, for I shall work to the last moment.

I have been tempted to buy a collection of Hartweg’s[76] very fine Mexican plants, which being collected far in the interior of north Mexico are very North American, and quite necessary, I think, for us. They will reach you with the other parcels. Be careful about the little labels with the numbers stuck on. Bentham will publish them presently....

Professor Royle, as the agent of India people, I believe, offers me seeds from Himalaya Mountains, received, and still to be received, from the government collectors, in exchange for those of useful and interesting North American plants, which they are desirous of introducing into India. But as I can’t attend to it until another season, he kindly offers to send to you a portion of the seeds just received, and to ask you to distribute them in such way as will be most useful, and ask those you give them to (say Downing, Hogg, Dr. Wray, Dr. Boykin, etc., and some one in the valley of the Mississippi or Arkansas) to collect seeds of trees, etc. (you can suggest what would be most desirable), and send them to London, whence they will be sent in the mails overland to India. As I fear I shall not see Royle again I shall write him a note, telling him, as I promised, how to send to you.

I saw Dr. Sims’ herbarium, at King’s College. I want to look at it to certify a few early “Botanical Magazine” plants.

Brown came to the museum this morning with a copy of a curious late paper of Schleiden (which I had seen before) on the Development of the Embryo, with a parcel of his own notes on the same subject made in 1810, 1812, 1815, etc., which did not altogether correspond. Brown thinks much of Schleiden as an observer. He read me many of his old notes, and the subject took him to speak of his discoveries with regard to the embryos of Pinus. To explain to me as he went on he drew the diagram on the inclosed slip of paper, and pointed out to me how to observe in our species of Pinus. This will refresh my memory as to all he told me, so pray keep it safely. There is much very curious matter now afloat about the process of impregnation and the early development of embryo, which I am accumulating, as much as I can, for future use. Pray tell Dr. Perrine that the gardeners and botanists here insist by acclamation almost that there is no such thing as acclimation in the vegetable kingdom.

What a pickle the Linnæan Ascyrum is in! I wish I had room to tell you.

TO MRS. TORREY.

Tuesday morning, two o’clock A.M., March 14, 1839.

I have just finished packing up, being about to start for Boulogne in steamboat at nine o’clock this morning, and I must now hastily close my letters. This, or rather yesterday, has been a busy day with me. I started in the morning to have a look at a few more things of Pursh’s at Lambert’s, but he kept me longer than I liked. He found somewhere a small parcel of plants collected by Eschscholz in Kotzebne’s voyage, who sent them to Lambert. Lambert gave me all the North American ones, few to be sure, but interesting. From Lambert’s I returned by way of the Horticultural Society, to bid good-by to Lindley and Bentham, but the latter insists upon coming up in the morning to my lodgings to see me off. I have made a fortunate acquisition for him. He told me he saw, a few days ago, at an auction some copies of Richard’s fine work on the Coniferæ, but an engagement at the time prevented him from staying to buy a copy of the work for himself, which he imagined would be sold cheap. Mr. Putnam found out who bought up these copies, and obtained one at nearly the price at which they were sold. I shall have the pleasure of presenting it to Bentham this morning when he calls. I went to the British Museum, worked hard until four o’clock; but was not able quite to finish, so I left my copy of Gronovius, in which I was making notes, with Mr. Bennett to keep for me until my return in the autumn, and took leave of Brown and Bennett. Went to Dr. Boott’s; saw Mrs. and Miss Boott, who insisted upon giving me a note of introduction to a friend of theirs in Florence; went to the City, dined with Putnam, down to Well-close Square, took my tea, and bid good-by to Ward and family, and Mr. Quekett....

TO THE MISSES TORREY.

Paris, March 18, 1839, Monday evening.

I am now at the Hotel de l’Empereur Joseph II., Rue Tournon, près du Palais du Luxembourg. Here I have been established for about half an hour, and my first business shall be to fill this sheet for you. I suppose I must begin at the beginning and tell you how I came here. Voilà. I left London at nine o’clock in the morning of the 14th inst. (Thursday), stopping on my way to the steamboat which was to take me to Boulogne, to leave a parcel of letters at Mr. Putnam’s office, to be forwarded to dear friends at home. It was a nasty, rainy morning; and our boat was, as indeed I expected, not very comfortable. The cabin was well enough, but much too small for the accommodation of some fifty or sixty persons, and there was no covering to the deck, nor any deck-cabin, except two dirty little places for the poorer passengers, who were not allowed the use of ours; so we had our choice the whole day between the soaking in the rain upon the deck and the close atmosphere of the crowded cabin. Of course I was vibrating between the two dilemmas the whole day, but took as much pains as I could to keep dry. The only thing I saw worthy of notice as we went down the Thames was Greenwich Hospital, of which I will perhaps send a print. I should add also chalk cliffs, for I never before saw rocks and hills of chalk. In the afternoon, as we had fairly got into the Channel, a thick fog came on. The captain lost his way and seemed in fear that he should run the boat upon the Sands, so he dropped anchor about five in the afternoon. We were to have arrived at Boulogne at nine that evening. But as I saw there was no great chance of our moving for some time, I set about making amends for my loss of sleep the previous night. I took possession of two thirds of a hard sofa, and, wrapped in my cloak, was soon in a comfortable doze. I awoke late in the evening; and such a sight as there was before me! It seems that there were no accommodations for sleeping on board, or next to none, and the passengers, men, women, and children, were indiscriminately but thickly strewn over the sofas, chairs, and even over the whole floor, with portmanteaus, great-coats, and whatever they could find for pillows, attempting to secure such rest as they could,—some sixty persons or more crowded into a space not larger than the cabin of one of our ferry-boats....

But I was too drowsy to mind it much, and soon fell asleep again, but awoke in the morning with swollen eyes and complaining bones. The boat was moving again, and it was raining as hard as ever. The distant coast of France soon came in view, and at half past ten we were landed at Boulogne. We were escorted to the custom-house; what baggage we had brought in our hands was closely examined by the officers, an ill-looking, vagabond set; our passports were taken from us and provisional ones given, which permitted us to go on to Paris, and for which we each had to pay two francs; we were then allowed to go to a hotel and get our breakfast, a privilege which most of us were not slow to avail ourselves of. I made a hearty meal of cold roast beef, café au lait, excellent bread, and delicious butter. The two last I have found ever since I have been in France. I gave my keys to the commissionaire of the hotel to get my luggage through the custom-house, and, my place being taken in the diligence for Paris at two o’clock, having nothing else to do, I went to the custom-house to see the examination of the luggage. Lazy custom-house officers and gendarmes were lounging about, while heavy carts loaded with baggage were drawn up from the boat by women!—and this while it was raining hard, and the poor creatures were without hats or bonnets, and had only a handkerchief or a bit of cloth tied over their heads. So much for this self-styled most refined and polite nation! I noticed the poor things when their task was done and they were waiting to convey the trunks, etc., from the custom-house to the various hotels. Some were chatting in groups, apparently quite content with their lot; a few were sleeping, and many, with the characteristic industry of their sex, produced their knitting-work from their pockets and were busily employed at a more appropriate and feminine employment. I was amused at the strictness with which three exceedingly unpleasant-looking fellows searched all our baggage, that of the ladies not less than that of the men. Little parcels were opened, dirty linen was overhauled and most minutely inspected; the whole scene would have made a fit subject for the pencil of Hogarth. My traveling-bag was examined from top to bottom, and I began to fear that my trunk, which I had packed with care, would be sadly deranged, but they contented themselves with cutting open a packet of seeds I was taking from the Horticultural Society to De Candolle, and with seizing as a great prize my rather formidable parcel of letters of introduction. This was near causing me to be detained until the next diligence; but the commissionaire succeeded in getting them sent up to the inspector in another part of the town, upon whom we called, when after due explanation had been made, and one or two of the letters read, they were formally delivered back to me.

I can tell you what a French diligence is like. It is just like one of the railroad cars (about three apartments) of the Harlem railroad, for example, mounted on coach wheels; the horses are small, lean, shaggy, and ugly; some seven of these beasts are fastened, three abreast and one for a leader, with ropes to the said diligence; but how such beasts contrive to draw such a cumbrous vehicle, loaded with seventeen persons and their baggage, besides a driver and conductor, I don’t well understand, although the beasts are changed every five or six miles; but somehow we got over the ground pretty fast, and came to Paris, over one hundred and forty miles, in a little less than thirty hours, although it rained all the first day and part of the second, and the roads were extremely muddy.

We arrived just before nightfall at Montreuil, a fine old fortified French town situated on the summit of a hill and overlooking a broad valley, which in summer must be quite beautiful; here we dined, and were charged four francs each for dinner, besides sous to the garçon. I slept pretty well in the night, during which we passed Abbéville, where there is said to be a fine church. We breakfasted at the queer old town of Beauvais, where there is a fine cathedral, of which I had a pretty good view. My breakfast (déjeuner à la fourchette, which is the next thing to a dinner) cost three and a half francs, for on this route you meet with very English charges. I wished to say something about the country, but have not room. Suffice it to say that we passed through the town of St. Denis late in the afternoon, where I did not even get a glimpse of the very ancient cathedral, and arrived at Paris just before nightfall. After dinner, in company with a fellow-passenger, a young Englishman, I gratified a long-felt curiosity by strolling through the Palais Royal and some of the principal streets of Paris. On Sunday I attended church in the morning (after a vain attempt to find the American Chapel) at the Rev. Mr. Sayer’s English Episcopal Chapel, where I heard a good sermon; and in the evening at the Methodist Chapel, where the Rev. Mr. Toase preached a truly excellent discourse from Jeremiah viii. 13. All the shops were open just as on any other day, and the gardens and parks were all crowded. This morning I went down to the Jardin des Plantes, stopping by the way to see the ancient church of Notre-Dame, where I heard a portion of the Catholic service chanted.... At last, after looking at many other buildings and objects of curiosity, about which I will tell you more presently, I reached the garden, found Decaisne, who could speak no English, and I almost no French; so he took me to Adrien de Jussieu, who makes out to speak very tolerable English, and to understand me pretty well. I left soon to call on Mr. Webb,[77] who is an Englishman, for whom I had a letter from Hooker; thence after looking in vain for “appartements garnis “ in Rue de l’Odéon, Place de l’Odéon, etc., I secured my lodgings here, where I shall be obliged to hear nothing but French, and where I hope I may catch some of the language, and after dining at the ordinary at the Hôtel de Lille, where English is spoken, I transferred myself to my present quarters. But my sheet is full. I will give you another very soon. Till then, mes chères petites sœurs, adieu.

Wednesday evening, March 20.—I must continue my letter to you on a large sheet of thin French paper, else I shall have a larger bill of postage to pay than will be altogether convenient when I send to Havre. I did not write last evening; I had no fire in my room, and after running about all day over streets paved with little square blocks of stone, which it is very fatiguing to walk over, I came home fairly tired, and went to bed soon after nine o’clock. Except calling on M. Delessert, for whom I had a letter and a small parcel from Hooker, and whom I did not find at home, I spent the whole day in looking about the town, seeing sights, etc. My first call was at the Louvre, a large and splendid palace, where I spent an hour or two in the vast gallery of paintings, which fill a very large salon and a long gallery, I suppose five hundred or six hundred feet long, connecting the Louvre with the palace of the Tuileries....

To-day I have been wholly occupied at the Jardin des Plantes. Fortunately for me Jussieu speaks a little English, so I can get on with him pretty well. But you would have been amused at the attempts which M. Decaisne and M. Gaudichaud[78] and myself made to understand each other. Still more amused would you have been to see how I managed to make a bargain with a bookseller for a few books I wished to purchase. I feel the want of French sadly, and have no time for study.

Thursday evening.—I have been again occupied the whole day at the Jardin des Plantes, and went at six o’clock to dine with Mr. Webb to meet M. Gay.[79] Webb had taken care to ask an English student also, who speaks French much better than he does English, who sat between Gay and myself and interpreted when it became necessary. But Gay speaks a little of what will pass for English, mixed here and there with French, so that I got on very well indeed.

Gaudichaud was also there, a very interesting man if one could talk with him. We were kept rather late, so that it is now past twelve, so I must bid you good-night.

Monday evening.... At three o’clock I went to the Institute. I found that the room was already crowded. I inquired for Jussieu and Brongniart, the only members I could think of that I knew, but they were not there and therefore I could not get in. After some time Jussieu came in. But it was then too late, so I lost the object for which I had given up half the day. Jussieu, however, took me into the library, which is worth seeing. I employed the remaining hour or so in purchasing some prints of remarkable buildings, etc., in Paris, and I was also tempted to buy a few engravings from some of the great masters. After dinner I went to Mr. Webb’s, where I looked at plants for a few hours. He gave me also some autographs of celebrated botanists, and a few old botanical books....

Friday evening, March 29.... The Garden of Plants was nearly on my way home; so I stopped there, worked for an hour (till five o’clock), went home (home, indeed!), took my dinner, found myself most thoroughly tired as well as hungry, having had no breakfast but a small roll of bread I obtained near the cemetery; had a fire kindled in my room, and commenced writing to you. Just now the little daughter of the concierge, a little girl of six or seven, who often waits upon me, has brought me a cup of coffee, which I have enjoyed greatly, and now feel much restored. French children are all pretty and graceful, and I am making the little girl’s acquaintance as fast as I can; for it is difficult for me to understand her (it seems odd to hear such a little thing speak French), and in answer to some of my attempts to speak French to her, she answers, “Je n’entends pas anglais, monsieur.”

What great lies the French newspapers tell! Yesterday morning the paper I was reading at my breakfast stated that one of the gardeners who had charge of the bears at the Jardin des Plantes descended into the inclosure for some purpose, and was seized by the bears, killed immediately, and almost eaten up before help was obtained. So when I arrived at the garden I of course spoke to Decaisne about it, who was greatly surprised, for it seems the story was entirely a fabrication.

I see I have at length filled this large sheet, so I must say adieu for the present, but hope to-morrow evening to begin another. Ever I remain,

Your attached, A. G....

TO MRS. TORREY.

Wednesday evening.... There is little danger of my being spoiled in Paris by being overpolished. In London one must take care to be always comme il faut. There I took pains to keep myself rather spruce, which I have continued here from the mere force of habit!!! But gentlemen in Paris dress anyhow; they don’t pay half the attention to the matter it receives in England; with the ladies it is perhaps different, but here I scarcely ever see ladies except in the streets or shops and restaurants! At the houses of botanists I have only seen Mme. Gay, a very plain and good-natured Swiss lady. As to parlez-vous-ing, it is not such an easy matter, I assure you. You would laugh most heartily to see me in the botanic gallery of the Jardin des Plantes, endeavoring to carry on a conversation with Gaudichaud or Decaisne; the former of whom can scarcely read English, and the latter can speak only a dozen words. I get out, with no little difficulty, a few sentences of such French as has not been heard since the days of King Pepin, I am sure; and when that fails me I write in English, which Decaisne can read, and make him write in French in return, or else for short sentences speak very slowly and distinctly. From my ignorance of the language I am obliged to take great pains when I wish to purchase anything from the shops; for it is customary to put on an additional price to English customers. Fortunately my complexion and the style of my countenance are so far French that before I speak I am generally taken for a native, and I sometimes manage to make purchases without saying a word beyond a monosyllable. So I have to be very careful to avoid being cheated; but I am every day acquiring more knowledge and experience.

I have been seized with a mania for collecting prints on a small scale, and shall send home some very good ones,—to adorn my parlor and study at Michigan, of course! There are astonishing quantities to be found here. I am endeavoring to get all the portraits of botanists I can, and from this I have been led to pick up ancient ones, which show the early state of the art or old-fashioned costumes, etc., and also a few choice engravings from the old masters; but most of these I can obtain better in Italy or Germany. Tell Dr. Torrey not to be alarmed, for I shall not spend much money upon them.

As a general thing Paris is not very beautiful. But there are some magnificent sights, I assure you. At odds and ends of time I have already seen most of the ordinary sights which attract the attention of travelers, but must leave all account of them for the journal from Paris, which so far is addressed to the girls, though I fear it will scarcely interest them or any one else....

Decaisne has given me separate copies of his papers. He is now publishing a most splendid (botanically speaking) memoir upon the order Lardizabaleæ, in which I see he has found out some things which have been known to Brown only, for a long time. He will give us copies, I dare say. He is one of the best botanists here. I like Gaudichaud also very much....

I have just finished the examination of Michaux’s herbarium, which has proved worth looking over. I shall write the doctor more particularly, indeed have already begun a letter for him. Mr. Webb showed me last evening a letter from Hooker, which contains a good deal of botanical intelligence for himself and me. The British Antarctic expedition, he says, is to sail positively in August, and Joseph is to go. I wonder if they will be two years or so in getting off!...

TO THE MISSES TORREY.

Paris, April 1, 1889, Monday evening.

My dear Girls,—It is rather late, and I have no fire in my room, to which I have just now returned, but it is nearly comfortable without one, and so we will have a few words together before I sleep. My last and long sheet was closed, I think, on Friday evening. On Saturday my morning was spent as usual at the Jardin des Plantes; returning from whence I looked along the shops and so on to the Pont du Louvre, which I crossed; passed through the Palais Royal at the most busy season, when it is all lighted up splendidly, and dined at the Restaurant Colbert at half past seven. I am patiently exploring (I should say eating) my way through the mazes of French cookery, and am trying to select from the complicated bill of fare the more peculiar and national dishes, some of which are excellent, others so-so, or very poor....

To-day I have been again at the Garden, working as hard as possible, since I have so little time remaining. I dined at half past six at one of the famous restaurants, just to see how it was managed, and returning spent the early part of the evening with Mr. Webb, who lives near me.

On my way from the Garden, I stopped at another church. I believe the only remaining one of large size and much interest which I had not already seen.... It is called St. Severin, and is very old, having been built in the year 1210.

This is the first of April, and a fine spring day it has been, though the season is little more advanced than at New York. In two weeks I must be again upon the wing, and shall soon meet the summer. I want to see the south of France and sunny Italy. Adieu.

Tuesday evening, April 2.—I intended to have had time this evening to write several letters, but Decaisne has been with me, and did not leave until almost twelve, we had so much to talk about. I have been all the morning at the Garden; have worked very hard, indeed, and have nearly finished there. To-morrow is like to be a broken day, as I have made an engagement to see Dr. Montagne[80] and his microscope at twelve o’clock, which will take an hour or two out of the very best part of the day. I will try to turn the fragments of the day to some account. But now good-night.

Monday evening, April 8.... Saturday was a little more diversified. I went at eight o’clock in the morning to Professor Richard’s,[81] who lives near me, examined some plants of Michaux, then took my breakfast, went to the Garden for three or four hours, but returned at two o’clock to see the Chamber of Peers in session, M. Gay having provided me with a ticket of admittance, which procured me a very good seat. The members all wear a kind of court dress, the military peers swords, and those who have them display the insignia of the order of the Legion of Honor, and so forth. Several new peers were admitted, but before they were introduced, a number of peers made some remarks which could not have been very flattering to them, the creation of a new batch just at this time having given much dissatisfaction to the old ones. Among others, I heard a little speech from the famous Marshal Soult. Lord Brougham, who is now in Paris, was present. I recognized him across the room by his homely face, which he is in the habit of twitching and contorting incessantly, as if it pained him. He seemed to listen with much attention.

In the evening I paid a visit to Mr. Spach,[82] looked over plants and so forth until ten o’clock, returned shivering with cold, for the weather here is like March in New York. I am now sitting by a large fire, and yet I am shivering.

Tuesday evening, April 9.—In the morning went to hear Mirbel[83] lecture at the Sorbonne; he speaks so distinctly that I understood him tolerably well in general. The lecture-room is old and incommodious, rather better, to be sure, than the accommodation for the students of the university in the olden time, when they used to sit upon straw spread in the streets, but certainly not very fine. I went afterward to the Ecole de Médecine; heard the professor of anatomy for a few minutes; came away, saw two or three books that I wanted in a stall belonging to a shop, priced them; found the price much higher than I intended to give, so I named the price I would give; was amused with the perseverance of the very genteel madame, who reduced her price down to within seven francs of my offer, and then labored hard to make me take them. I advanced one franc, but utterly refused to give a sou more. “Vous n’êtes pas raisonnable,” says madame. “Je suis très raisonnable,” I replied, “mais votre prix n’est pas raisonnable.” So I left the shop, madame very coolly replacing the books on the shelf, with one eye turned toward me to see if I would relent. I had got some distance down the street when the boy came running after me, to say that I might have the books, “mais ils sont très bon marché.” So much for the way you are obliged to make bargains here. Went to the Garden, returned to dine here, paid a little visit to Mr. Webb, and must write the remainder of the evening.

Thursday evening, April 11.—My approaching departure makes it a very busy time for me. Let me recollect what I did yesterday. I went first to Baron Delessert’s; studied in his magnificent library until about one o’clock; then visited my banker, who is near, drew some money; then to a bookseller to arrange some matters about our “Flora” (which I failed to do); went to the Bibliothèque du Roi, where they have miles of books and acres of manuscripts, but as it was not a public day, I did not see half that I wished. I have made arrangements, however, for a future day. I went next to the post office, and took a place in the malle-post (which is very much quicker than the diligence) for Lyons, to go on Monday; so that the time of my departure is pretty well fixed. I next went to learn the time of the departure of the carriages for Sèvres and Versailles, which places I intend to visit to-morrow. Then I met Chevalier, the optician, by appointment, to consult about microscopes for an hour or two.... Called on M. Gay, with whom I found M. Boissier, a Swiss botanist whom I had often seen at the Garden, and also August St. Hilaire,[84] who returned but a few days since from Montpellier.

On reaching my room at half past ten, I found a note from Mr. Webb, saying that M. Spach had a message for me from Mirbel, and asking me to call if I had time; went immediately, but was too late; Webb had gone to bed. Returned, arranged accounts, etc., and went to bed myself.

To-day I have been, if possible, still more busy; at least I have accomplished more, though I made a bad beginning. The concierge promised to call me at eight, but I awoke myself at nine. Consequently it was past ten before I made my first call, which was upon Mr. Webb, to know when I was to see Mirbel. I called next upon Dr. Montagne to get a letter to the chief curator of the Bibliothèque du Roi, which should afford me the opportunity of seeing this, the largest library in the world, on a private day, namely, Monday, the only public day while I stay being Friday, when I have something else to do. Eh bien. I went next to the Louvre, and saw the other and best half of that most magnificent gallery, my passport giving me a ready admittance.... Suffice it to say I saw very much to admire—some things that I greatly admired—very much I did not allow myself time enough to become interested in, as well as many works of the old fellows that one likes to say he has seen.... Again in a cabriolet to the Ecole de Médecine; looked through the museum, which was to-day open to the public; saw for a moment the examination of a batch of candidates for a vacant professorship by concours; also the examination of students in the same way; then I visited the Musée Dupuytren,—a surgical museum of great extent; then went to the Ile St. Louis (opposite the Garden) to call on M. de St. Hilaire; not at home, so I saved a little time. Next to the Garden; looked on my way at the animals, the hyenas, lions, giraffe, monkeys, etc., besides a few large snakes; then called at Mirbel’s rooms, who took a great deal of trouble to show me most curious things in vegetable anatomy, but of this I will write to your good papa, who will care much more for it than you. After this I saw Decaisne for a few minutes at the botanical gallery; took one of the young lads with me; saw the mineralogical cabinet and that of fossils, which occupy a new and most beautifully arranged gallery. Here I saw many of the famous things I have heard so much of. In the vestibule to this gallery they are preparing a pedestal for a fine and large statue of Cuvier. I went next to Jussieu’s house, talked with him for a few minutes, and bid him good-by. On my way home stopped at Ballière’s, the bookseller, to transact some business; home; dined at half past seven; went to Webb’s, where I like to go of an evening, as I get a good cup of tea (no common thing in Paris), which, after such a day’s work, was very grateful, I assure you; remained until half past nine; returned here, took up my pen, and voici the result; and if I do not write plainly and neatly, it is no great wonder, and I trust you will excuse it, for I have other writing to do also this evening. Besides, I must rise at seven, as I expect another very busy day. On my return this evening, I found a polite note from Delessert[85] accompanying a magnificent present, no less than a copy of three volumes of the “Icones Selectæ.” An invitation for Saturday evening from M. and Mme. Delessert came with it. I am already engaged to dinner, at half past six, for the same day.

JOURNAL.

Saturday morning, half past seven.—[After an account of a visit to Versailles, he goes on:] Now bidding adieu to all this most interesting ground, I took up my march, on foot and alone, for St. Germain, distant about four miles. From the heights of Louveciennes I obtained the first view of the Seine and the lovely and broad valley through which it winds. Here I passed the remains of an elevated and striking aqueduct which conveyed water to a royal château which formerly stood in the neighborhood, and also, I believe, to the village of Marly, through which I passed a little farther on. Then descending rapidly, I reached again the banks of the Seine, the terrace of St. Germain being directly before me. It was now three o’clock. The steep hill was to be ascended by a winding road, and being somewhat leg-weary, I stopped a passing countryman’s cart; the lad who was driving readily gave me a seat by his side, and thus I rode into St. Germain. The lad was quite intelligent, and answered all my questions (when he understood me) very readily. He set me down close by the château. I gave him ten sous for his trouble, and we parted on good terms with each other. The château of St. Germain, which was a chief royal residence before Versailles was built, is more interesting to us as the place where the Stuarts kept their petty court so many years. It is now converted into a military penitentiary, and I was not anxious to examine the interior, as I am informed scarce any of the original apartments or furniture remain. The exterior is striking, quite of the old style, built of the same red bricks as the central portion of Versailles. What is most worth seeing here is the terrace, a beautiful park, extending for almost two miles along the brow of the high ridge, with the most beautiful view from it of the valley beneath and before you, the hills that bound your view, and the numerous villages scattered here and there. A finer situation cannot be imagined. The Seine, after passing Paris, makes a bold, double turn. The view extends quite to Paris (fifteen miles) though the city is nearly concealed from view, yet you see the grand Arc de l’Etoile distinctly. In the summer it must be surpassingly beautiful. At four o’clock I descended the steep declivity to the commencement of the railroad, took a little refreshment; at twenty minutes past four we started in cars propelled by steam, and in an hour I was in Paris and taking my dinner at the Restaurant Colbert. A pretty good day’s work!

Saturday, went to dine at Mr. Webb’s; a little party,—a bachelors’ party, for Webb is single,—consisting of Dr. Montagne, M. Berthelot, M. and Mme. Ramon de la Sagra, M. Spach and his wife, and a young Spaniard whose name I do not recollect. Webb is quite a polyglot; he speaks French, Spanish, Portuguese, Italian, Modern Greek, and I know not what besides his mother tongue. At half past nine I left, took a cabriolet for Delessert’s, where I had been invited to an evening party; found there several botanists and persons I knew. Delessert received me cordially, introduced me to Madame D., who I was rejoiced to find spoke English very well. The suite of rooms thrown open was very splendid, and communicating with the last was a pretty greenhouse, filled with vigorous plants, all in fine bloom; the whole, carpeted and lighted, presented a most inviting appearance. The brothers Delessert are said to be very rich, and I suppose can well afford such an expensive establishment. The party broke up at eleven. Besides tea, which is quite English, though the French are getting more into the custom of using it we had ices, etc., but nothing else. The whole affair was conducted without any parade and in quiet good taste....

Notabilia varia.—Ellimia, Nutt., was described a little before us by two authors under two different names: First by Cambessides in Jacquemont’s Travels, under the name of Oligomeris; second by Webb and Berthollet, “Histoire Naturelle des Iles Canaries,” under the name of Resedella; Webb has Jacquemont’s plant from the Himalaya and his own growing together; they are absolutely the same. I am to examine them soon, but have scarce a doubt they are even the same species as ours. Webb has promised me a specimen. It is also the Reseda glauca of Delile ex Egypto. It is curious that the plant should at the same time be described from almost every part of the world, and not less so that the three names hit upon should have all meant the same thing, namely, a reduced reseda.

I have just spent the evening with Gay. He is publishing Carices in “Annales des Sciences Naturelles:” has hit upon some of Boott’s notions; but not all. He is a laboriously minute observer, and will do pretty well, but like Boott inclines to make too many species. He insists upon describing the small form of C. Hitchcockiana from Dr. Sartwell and Kentucky as a distinct species, in which he may be right. He wished to name it after me, but I declined the honor, and have transferred it to Dr. Sartwell, the discoverer, whose name it is to bear....

Delessert received me very kindly when I called on him. I must call again soon, and consult especially his rich library. He showed me a list he had just ordered from New York; among which of course was our “Flora.” I should have offered him a copy, but now it is scarcely worth while.... I shall not see De Candolle here. Delessert does not expect him until May. I shall leave the books and parcels for him with Delessert, and make De Candolle take back to Geneva with him all my parcels that I do not wish to take with me to the south.

April 2, evening, or rather April 3, as it is past midnight.—I have worked to-day as hard as I could jump from ten to half past five o’clock at the herbarium général of the Museum de Paris, and have finished. Apart from Michaux’s plants, of which they have nearly a set distributed, they are wretchedly poor in North American species; almost none of Lamarck and Poiret. I except the plants given by LeConte, Torrey, etc., which are arranged but not incorporated. The present Gallery of Botany is exceedingly fine and spacious, and well planned. I have gone carefully through all Michaux’s herbarium (from your limited time you have made some bad slips in the Carices of Michaux, which Gay, I am sorry to say, has found out), noting all dubious matters to be settled by examination of Richard’s set. I have gone through De la Pylaie’s herbarium completely and carefully; I have examined the herbarium given by Humboldt,—not complete but said to be as large as Kunth’s own set or more so, and labeled by Kunth; I have looked at everything here which I thought could interest us, but some I found not, such as Cercocarpus; I have examined some other separate sets of the same kind. I am now ready to glance through Jussieu’s herbarium, which is said to contain many Lamarck and Poiret; to spend a little time in Richard’s, a few hours more for Desfontaines at Webb’s, and perhaps Berlandier’s[86] plants, though these are distributed through Webb’s immense collection; this I can do, however, in evenings. Then a morning or two at Delessert’s, which will be more occupied with examination of books than plants, will, I believe, finish. Webb has promised to give me some plants of Labilliardière, whose herbarium he bought, as he did Mercier’s, in which he got many of Nuttall’s plants. He has also a collection of Lady Dalhousie’s from North America, all Drummond’s, etc., etc.; so he is pretty rich in North American plants, but they are not all arranged yet. Webb has most generously presented me with a complete copy of L’Héritier’s Works (in sheets) except the “Cornus,” which I have this day bought of the Jew Meilhac, and for which I was obliged to give six francs. I shall have the whole bound in two large folio volumes: “Cornus” and “Sertum Anglicum” in one, “Stirpes Novæ” and “Geraniologia” in the other. I think thus far that the few copies of the “Flora” I have given away have turned to good account. I meant to go to Jussieu to-morrow, but Webb has made an appointment with me to see Dr. Montagne (muscologist, etc.) and his microscope, which is one of the latest and best of Chevalier, and will enable me to decide if I may venture upon one for Sullivant.

On Saturday Decaisne told me, almost by accident, that he was to do the Asclepiadeæ for De Candolle’s “Prodromus,” at the same time showing me a paper of his on the family that I was unacquainted with, much to his surprise, but he at once gave me a copy. You must know, that although I knew nothing scarcely of this family when I left you, and now know little as to general structure, yet I pride myself a little on my researches in extricating the synonymy of the species in London, in Herbarium Linnæus, Hort. Clift., Herbarium Gronovius, Banks, Walter and Pursh, and here of Michaux. Accordingly on Monday (yesterday) Decaisne and myself had a regular examination of all the species we could find here, and I furnished him with all my notes upon the synonymy, and left with him those I had with me from your herbarium, to be returned to London in September next. Decaisne has been with me also all this evening.

I find that very many of the pamphlets we have sent from time to time have miscarried, particularly the copies of my “Ceratophyllaceæ,” sent by Castilneaux, and, what is mortifying, Guillemin and Jussieu received copies, but Brongniart and Decaisne none. I have just sent my only remaining copy here (for you sent me none) to Brongniart,[87] with an explanation.

There is a second species of Podophyllum from Cashmere or Himalaya, P. Emodi, also collected by Jacquemont, from whose specimens Decaisne has given me a piece. What is most curious, it is sixandrous, and therefore comes into Berberideæ except in wanting the dehiscence of the anthers by valves (which Decaisne tells me is also the case in Nandina), and so Robert Brown’s views are confirmed. I should not wonder if the sly old chap had seen a specimen from Wallich when he appended the note to the “Congo Voyage” on Berberideæ.

Thursday evening, April 4.—Yesterday saw Dr. Montagne, the muscologist, and examined his microscope thoroughly, which is one of the latest and best of Charles Chevalier’s. To-day I spent the morning at Jussieu’s, looking up Lamarckian species, etc., in A. L. de Jussieu’s herbarium; was very successful in Hypericum, but have no time now to give you details. In the afternoon Webb, by appointment, met me at the Garden, and we went to see Mirbel,—a man well worth seeing, I assure you. Webb acted as interpreter, when it was necessary, for Mirbel speaks with such distinctness that knowing what he was about I could understand him pretty well.

I like Mirbel excessively. Considering I was a perfect stranger, of whom he knew nothing, I think he took great pains to show me what I wanted to see. Sullivant’s microscope will be of the same kind as his, only better, so that he will have the means of being a second Mirbel. Examined his microscope, which is a good one, but I think not equal to the best English; got some good hints, etc.; am to call again. He is very communicative, and you missed much in not seeing so extraordinary a man. He showed me a series of drawings and engravings on which he has been long engaged, for a mémoire on the structure of roots,—splendid drawings; and he explained to me what I before could not form a clear idea about, how the curious emboîtement or thickening of the walls of cells takes place by the development of new cells within the old. He showed me what I at once recognized as the so-called gridiron-tissue which I had seen in England, and I noticed that he explained it in the same way as Brown. He promised me copies for self and friends of the late paper of his on Embryologia in the “Comptes Rendus,” just now read before the Institute (which will also be published with a part of the plates in the “Annales des Sciences Naturelles” and finally completely in “Archives du Muséum “), in which he says he has completely upset the new-fangled notions of Schleiden, Unger, etc. (adopted by Endlicher); and, what is remarkable, his investigations on the subject were made before he knew of their views, and the publication is only a little hastened on account of theirs. This evening I have been with Webb, looking up Desfontaines and Poiret plants, also some of Spach. Did I tell you I have seen a good deal of Spach of late? He does not agree well with the other botanists of the Garden; but there are some good points about him, and he is mending every day. I pushed him rather hard upon some of his bad ways, particularly that of his changing specific names, which he bore very well. Webb says he is now falling into an opposite extreme as to species, and will hardly admit anything to be distinct; but Webb himself rather inclines to multiply species, I believe. I am to meet Spach at his place in the Garden to-morrow morning. He is married, lately, to Miss Legendre, a relative of Mirbel’s, who made his drawings in Marchantia, etc.,—indeed the best botanical artiste in Paris. What a fine library Jussieu has! And what a capital advantage it is to have a great botanist for one’s father! I particularly envy Jussieu his collection of botanical pamphlets, which fill a large cabinet, all arranged in families, etc., the largest collection of the kind in the world, Jussieu thinks. He gave me to-day a little print of his father taken in the year his “Genera Plantarum” was published. He told me, what I did not know before, that Bernard de Jussieu superintended the publication of Aublet’s “Plantes de la Guiane.” I could buy that work rather cheap, but think I must refrain. I bought to-day Schreber’s edition of the “Genera Plantarum,” two francs, two vols. in one, bound, for myself (you have it, I believe), and a second copy of “Linnæi Species Plantarum,” ed. 3 (which is the 2d Holm., as you know, reprinted paginatim at Vienna). I gave five francs, and shall put it down for Sullivant, who should have it, unless indeed you desire to keep it yourself. I have bought (ten francs) the first four vols. of “Mémoires de l’Institut,” 4to, bound, for library of Michigan. Ventenat’s mémoire of Tilia is contained in one, also other botanical papers, and some good old chemical ones, etc. Webb is to put up for me a small parcel of Labilliardière’s New Holland plants.

I have bought L’Héritier’s “Cornus,” so now I have the whole complete, and must get it all bound.

P. S.—I have just discovered that the copy of L’Héritier’s is imperfect. I feel confident that Webb knows it not, and I of course cannot tell him. I shall have all bound up in one thick volume.

Monday evening, April 8.—I finished early this morning, at Richard’s, the examination of those species upon which Michaux’s herbarium is not satisfactory. Richard boasts of his set as the authentic one (which is true), but it is not as complete nor as good as the other, which is partly owing to Richard having divided with Kunth when he could. Michaux must have made a capital collection, since it has moreover supplied the general herbarium with a pretty extensive set, and Desfontaines and Jussieu with many; others I meet in the Ventenat herbarium (Delessert). They say De Candolle has some of Michaux’s plants, and who besides I know not....

But I have something better than all this to tell you. I have discovered a new genus in Michaux’s herbarium—at the end, among plantæ ignotæ. It is from that great unknown region, the high mountains of North Carolina. We have the fruit, with the persistent calyx and style, but no flowers, and a guess that I made about its affinities has been amply borne out on examination by Decaisne and myself. It is allied to Galax, but “un très-distinct genus,” having axillary one-flowered scapes (the flower large) and a style like that of a Pyrola, long and declined. Indeed I hope it will settle the riddle about the family of Galax, and prove Richard to be right when he says Ordo Ericarcum. I claim the right of a discoverer to affix the name. So I say, as this is a good North American genus and comes from near Kentucky, it shall be christened Shortia, to which we will stand as godfathers. So Shortia galacifolia, Torr. and Gr., it shall be. I beg you to inform Dr. Short, and to say that we will lay upon him no greater penalty than this necessary thing,—that he make a pilgrimage to the mountains of Carolina this coming summer and procure the flowers. Please lay an injunction upon Nuttall, that he publish no other Shortia, and I will do the same to Hooker in a letter that I am now writing. Indeed I think I will tell him some of its chief peculiarities, and then give him leave to publish the extract in the “Annals of Natural History” if he thinks it worth while.[88]

I attended a meeting of the Institute this afternoon. An election of a correspondent took place, which ran very close between Charles Buonaparte and Agassiz, but the latter carried it!

I must not forget to tell you about the Loganiaceous plant from Florida, for so Decaisne, to whom I gave leave to sacrifice a flower for drawing, has determined it to be; so Brown’s hint is confirmed. There is something rather queer about the style, which, as Brown’s “Prodromus” is not before me, I cannot say is also the case in any of the subgenera or genera he has indicated.

Euploca, Decaisne says, is certainly apocyneous. Nuttall, I believe, places it in Boragineæ.

April 9.—I heard Mirbel lecture to-day, commencing his course at the Sorbonne. He is a very good and clear lecturer, of the colloquial sort, and illustrates very well by rapid sketches on the blackboard. I believe you did not see him. In the contour of his features and in expression he is a good deal like Dr. Peters, except that his countenance is more attenuated, his features small and very little prominent, and his complexion light. At the Ecole de Médecine I was not fortunate enough to hit the chemical professor. I heard a portion of a lecture in the anatomical theatre, but soon came away.

I have had another fine lesson from Mirbel. He showed me all the drawings of the paper, of which I send three copies. I quit to-day.

Lyons, Wednesday evening, April 17, 1839.

At six o’clock precisely the malle-postes for every part of France began to leave, one after the other: that for Lyons came up; our baggage all in, our seats selected and arranged for us, in ten seconds we were in our places, and before the word adieu was fairly beyond my lips we were off at full speed. We took the route by Burgundy, passed Sens in the night, breakfasted at six next morning at Auxerre, and during the day should have passed through Autun, but I believe we did not; passed Châlons-sur-Saône at dusk, and arrived at Lyons at six precisely the next morning,—a rather fatiguing ride, but I saved much time over the diligence, which would have been even more fatiguing. The mail-coach takes four passengers only, three inside and one with the conducteur; it is drawn by seven horses guided by a postillion, in boots almost as high as himself, and the horses are changed every five miles or thereabouts. The time it took to change the horses I believe never exceeded a minute. I timed them once or twice by the watch, and we were moving again before the expiration of the minute. The country through which we passed was more fertile and in better cultivation than what I saw of Normandy; it was beautiful but monotonous, except the latter part, which grew quite picturesque as we approached the Rhone and the rivers that fall into it....

Lyons is finely situated just above the confluence of the Saône and the Rhone, occupying the space between the two rivers and also the other bank of the former. It has two beautiful and very steep hills, between which the Saône winds, which add much to its appearance....

April 25.—I broke off here some time ago, and left a space which I intended to fill up the first spare moment, by telling you what I saw at Lyons; what kind of a town it is; how I might possibly have seen Mont Blanc from it had it not been a rainy day; how I called on Seringe,[89] saw the little botanical garden, took notice of many little contrivances, particularly the way he keeps the aquatic plants wet; how he went with me to the Académie of Lyons, the branch of the University of Paris.... I could also describe the manufacture of velvet, which I also saw, but for all these things time does not permit; a good opportunity of sending to New York occurring to-morrow morning. So I must leave the hiatus....

I was called this morning at a quarter before four; went down to the steamboat, which was to start promptly at five, but which did not until half an hour later,—a narrow comfortless vessel, with no awning or protection for the decks, in which point, and in the lack of all comfortable arrangements, it is just like every other steamboat I have seen since I left New York, those between Liverpool and Glasgow alone excepted. The Rhone, even at Lyons and far below, merits pretty well the epithets applied to it, where it “leaves the bosom of its nursing lake,”—“the blue rushing of the arrowy Rhone,” for it is rapid the whole course. At Lyons it has a blue tint like that of the ocean, though not so deep. Well, we were off at length, and aided by the current we made very satisfactory progress. The distance by post between Lyons and Avignon is one hundred and sixty-seven miles, but including all the turnings of the river it must be much more; however, at six o’clock and a quarter the spires and battlements of Avignon, lighted by the setting sun, were in sight, and a beautiful sight they were as we drew near. The wall of the city, built by Pope Innocent VI. in the twelfth century, is still perfect, and very pretty, the architecture being what I should have thought. Moorish (judging from pictures merely); the numerous spires of this very ecclesiastical town rising above it; the huge rocky elevation next the river,—the site of the ancient fortress, and of old temples, churches, etc.,—and not least the ruined bridge of very ancient date, that still throws its beautiful arches half across the river, the lovely Italian landscape around, so fresh and green, the distant mountains encircling the whole, made it altogether as delightful a scene as one could wish to behold. But you must know that I am now in the region of the olive and myrtle, and have in the short space of three days concentrated, as it were, the pleasure we experience in watching the gradual approach of summer. The season is said to be later than usual at Paris; it is like April in New York,—a few warm days, but the evenings all chilly and most of the days raw and unpleasant, The horse-chestnut trees of the Tuileries were just bursting their buds; but every hour since, and particularly to-day, I have noticed little by little the advance. Here nearly all the trees have assumed their foliage,—that pure and delicate vernal foliage which we always so much admire, but which you enjoy very much to come upon in the way I have done, instead of waiting week after week, with every now and then a snowstorm, just to keep winter in remembrance. But I must not forget that I have seen snow also to-day. The summit of Mont Ventoux, which we have had in full sight since twelve o’clock, is covered with snow, its brilliant whiteness contrasting finely with the craggy brown mountains of lesser elevation, as with the green fields and tender foliage of the valleys. There is nothing very grand in the scenery of the Rhone from Lyons to this place. The upper portion is very much like the Hudson between New York and the Highlands, but I think scarcely as fine, if you make due allowance for the effect of the old villages, etc. (not half so comfortable as ours surely, but much better adapted to improve the beauty of the landscape), with now and then a gray ruin, which is a vast improvement. But from Tournon quite to Avignon, the scenery quite surpasses the Hudson, and exhibits such variety, moreover, that you are charmed continually: now bold and magnificent even; again, picturesque, particularly where the basaltic rocks, for it is wholly a volcanic country, form parapets like the Palisades, but much more curious and diversified, the more friable material being worn away in places, leaving columns and salient portions in all fantastic shapes. And again, especially in the lower portion, we see the hills widely separated, leaving most beautiful broad valleys between, with high mountains for a distant background. At St. Esprit we passed under the curious old bridge built in the eleventh century, which is still in as perfect a state apparently as if finished but yesterday. It is three thousand feet long, and is said to be the longest bridge in Europe; it consists of twenty-six arches, and each abutment has also a little arch above it. We passed other very pretty or striking views of which I should like vastly to have good prints, but I do not know whether any person has of late been illustrating the Rhone. But I must come to a close, not to fatigue you longer. I arrived at the most excellent Hôtel du Palais Royal (recommended by Bentham) just in time for the table d’hôte at seven o’clock, and after dinner sallied out, with a guide to conduct me to see Requien,[90] to whom Bentham had given me a letter. I found him a prompt man, and in almost ten words we settled my plan for to-morrow, which is to start in a cabriolet for Vaucluse at five o’clock in the morning, arrive at eight, spend two hours, breakfast, and return here by one o’clock; spend the afternoon and evening in seeing the most interesting objects in town, looking at his collections, his pictures, etc., etc. What would you give to see Vaucluse? I have many doubts whether it will equal my expectations, which are raised by the description; according to the account it must be very curious and strange, apart from the associations of the place, which here pass for little with me, as I feel no interest at all in Petrarch or Laura, whoever she may have been.

Avignon, Friday evening, April 19, half past eight o’clock.

I think you will scarcely call me an idle lad. It was about midnight when I went to bed last night; I was called this morning at half past four; a few minutes past five I was on my way in a cabriolet for Vaucluse, with a very lazy horse, so that it was nine o’clock when I arrived. I visited the famous fountain, admired the rocks, etc.; collected a few plants as a souvenir; took my breakfast, a very substantial one, consisting in part of delicate trout from the stream which issues from the fountain; left at eleven, arrived at Avignon again at half past two; saw the Requien museum of antiquities, which is rich, the paintings, the little botanic garden; saw also Requien’s library and collection of plants, etc; made arrangements for correspondence; climbed the rocky hill which overlooks the town and river; enjoyed the view; visited the cathedral (a small affair) which stands upon it; saw the old papal palace, now converted into a prison; returned to the Hôtel Palais Royal, and a most excellent hotel it is, which I hope you will patronize the first time you come to Avignon; dined at seven, having first secured a place in the diligence for Nîmes at ten o’clock this evening, where I hope to arrive by daylight and be ready to go on the same day to Montpellier, where I prefer to pass the Sabbath. Now I think this is doing pretty well....

Montpellier, Saturday evening, April 20, 1839.

At twelve o’clock I left Nîmes; rode through a highly fertile and level country, mostly occupied with vineyards, getting now and then a distant view of the mountains of Cevennes on the right, and soon of the Pic San Loup, by which I knew we were not very far from Montpellier. At this last place we arrived at five o’clock precisely, and here I am quartered at the most comfortable hotel imaginable, the Hôtel du Midi. All my stopping-places being indicated to me by Bentham, I have no difficulty in choosing where to stop. Here you are not put into a little seven by nine chamber up five pairs of stairs, as is the inevitable lot of a single man traveling in the United States, but I have a room like a large parlor, airy, the two windows looking into a pretty shady garden, a sofa, cushioned chairs, and every convenience you can think of. The town itself has nothing pleasant except its situation, but there are in it two delightful spots, which I sought at once, after having taken my dinner,—the Esplanade, very near me, an elevated plateau planted with trees, from which you have an extensive view of the country around. From this I had my first view of the Mediterranean, distant, I suppose, about eight miles! At the opposite side of the town is the Place du Peyrou, one of the finest squares in the world, on a fine elevation, descending by bold terraces into the country around, the green fields coming up on one side close to the parapet. The view is beautiful and very extensive, the Mediterranean on one side, the Pic San Loup and the mountains of Cevennes on the other, while toward the south, it is said, the Pyrenees may be seen in very clear weather. From this point I discovered the Botanic Garden, the oldest in Europe and in many respects still the finest. So I descended, sought out Delile the director, who it seems expected me, and expressed his delight in a most exaggerated and truly French manner. I stayed with him until nine o’clock; returned here, commenced this, but being fatigued soon gave it up and went to bed.

Monday morning, April 22.—Nearly all of the foregoing has been written this morning; but I cannot stay longer, as I should be stirring. There are many Protestants in Montpellier, it is said, but I fancy that they are chiefly not very pious, and as I should not understand the language well enough to be benefited, I thought it better to spend the Sabbath by myself. This was my first Sabbath on land in which I have not attended divine worship conducted in the English language.

Tuesday morning, April 23.—As early as possible in the morning yesterday I called on Lady Bentham, the mother of my good friend who has taken so much pains to aid me and her daughter, Madame Duchesnil; they live quite retired, and are occupied in directing the education of the son of Madame Duchesnil, a fine lad of about thirteen.... The ladies received me with great cordiality. I prolonged my call to an hour, and accepted an invitation to take tea with them this evening.... I went to the Garden, called upon M. Dunal,[91] the best botanist here, who, having lived single to the age of I should say fifty years, has found out that it is not good to be alone, and has just taken a wife. I did not stay very long, as I found when I called that he was not in his study, but I suppose in his drawing-room, and I could not be so cruel as to keep him from the company of his beloved.

I called next upon Delile,[92] but as he was not in, I spent a long time in looking over the Garden, noticing all the little details and arrangements that it would be useful for me to know. On his return we spent the remainder of the afternoon in looking over his plants collected in America. I dined with him at six o’clock, and spent nearly all the evening.... They have not water enough, however, to supply the Botanic Garden sufficiently, which has a very barren soil, and in this dry climate, where it seldom rains from this time till October, it suffers greatly. The first view of this garden is very striking, but upon a more careful observation I see less to admire. Still I learn some thing from every garden I visit.

Previously to calling on Lady Bentham I had accepted an invitation to dine this evening with Captain Gordon, a retired officer of the British army residing here, a friend of the Bentham family, who, hearing from Lady Bentham and Delile that I was soon expected here, called par hasard at the Hôtel du Midi, to request that they would send him word when I arrived. On finding me he insisted on my dining with him this evening. I have this moment, while I was writing, received a note from Lady Bentham, asking me to call on her this morning, saying she has a collection of plants made by herself for her son George at some interesting locality among the mountains, a set of which she is to have ready for me, knowing, as she says, that George would surely offer them to me. Although I had arranged my time a little differently, of course I shall call immediately after breakfast. Lady B., who is now very aged, is evidently a very superior woman; she is a very good botanist also, therefore, as I do not know the plants of the south of Europe very well, I am a little afraid of her.

Marseilles, April 25, Thursday evening.—I broke off my narrative on Tuesday morning, two days ago. I must continue my brief account, and then close my letters to send from this port. After breakfast, Captain Gordon called on me, and we went together to Lady Bentham. We found his dinner hour so late that we were obliged to give up the expectation of returning to take tea with the ladies here. Delile joined us, and soon after I went with him to see the museum of painting and sculpture, which, by a curious circumstance, is the richest in France, except that of Paris. There are not a few of originals of great masters; two or three Raphaels; as many of Salvator Rosa, Rubens, Poussin, Carlo Dolci, etc., many of which I know from engravings. We went next to the Medical School, which occupies the former palace of the archbishop, who was ousted at the time of the revolution. This is one of the oldest medical schools, and for a long time very celebrated. It is declining now; they have no professor of very great talent at present, except Lallemand. I was shown the gallery of portraits of the professors from the commencement almost, a prodigious number, and some of the old fellows very queer to look at. I saw also the library, the collection of manuscripts, classical, theological, a few Persian, Arabic, etc., which fell into their hands some years ago.

Thence we went to the Garden, looked at plants, but did not get on very much, Delile being fonder of telling long stories, complaining all the while how much he is pressed by his avocations, than of working hard. I then arranged my baggage, took a place in the diligence for Marseilles, called again on Lady Bentham, to take leave; dined with Captain Gordon, returned, and went to bed.

Rose on Wednesday (yesterday) morning at half past four; took diligence at five, arrived at Nîmes at half past ten; had time to take another survey of the Amphitheatre, the Maison Carrée, and so forth; took breakfast at half past eleven; off again at twelve, passed in sight of Beaucaire and Tarascon; crossed the Rhone, here a large river, near its mouth at Arles, a curious old town which has nothing modern about it, and thus was again in Provence. The court of Constantine the Great was for several years at Arles, which was celebrated for its refinement, and the women and children are said to be still handsome and graceful. Certainly nearly all I saw, young or old, were comely, and many handsome. They are all brunettes, and not a little sunburnt; but their black hair, large dark eyes, and long eyelashes appear to advantage. We were soon on the road again, traveled over an immense plain, bordered on the north by a long ridge of mountains, composed of naked jagged rocks,—a picturesque range, in fine contrast to the fertile plain from which it abruptly rises. They are, I believe, the mountains of the Durance. At length the plain became as barren as the mountains; night came on, and rather late in the evening we reached Aix, took our supper.... I slept pretty well, and when I awoke we were in sight of the town and bay of Marseilles, the latter superb as seen from the elevated place of our view; but the town did not present such an imposing view as I had been taught to expect....

Genoa, April 27, 1839. Saturday evening.—I have just finished my afternoon and evening stroll through this, to me, the first Italian city: the birthplace of Columbus, the city of the Dorias, the rival and even the conqueror of that other proud republic of the Middle Ages, Venice, in remembrance of which, huge pieces of the chains which were employed to bar the harbors of the latter city are suspended from the gates of Genoa. We arrived in the bay before twelve o’clock to-day, and during our gradual approach to the town enjoyed the view to the full; both the distant view and the near are very fine,—equal, I may say, to what I expected, which is saying a great deal. As seen from the bay it certainly deserves the name its citizens long ago gave it,—Genoa the Superb. You have the whole completely before you in one view, the buildings rising one behind the other, the fortifications that overtop the whole, with the vast mountain amphitheatre for a background.... You are not much disturbed with the rattling of carriage wheels here. With the exception of one street, and this a new one (Strada Nuova) at least as to its present dimensions, they are barely wide enough for a wheelbarrow, and mostly too steep for a carriage, even if they were wider. The houses are very high; six, seven, or eight stories being very common, indeed usual, so that the streets are mere chinks or crevices. I found the same advantage from this in Avignon and the other towns of the south of France, that is, the perfect protection afforded these warm days from the heat of the sun. You are sure of shade; and the air is so dry that none of the inconvenience and unhealthiness results which would surely be the case in other countries. I am at the Hôtel des Etrangers, not far from the quay, and my room, five or six stories high, looks down upon the harbor and bay. It is nine o’clock in the evening. The light is burning quietly in the light-house, a tall and very slender column at the entrance of the harbor, forming a beacon which is visible far and wide. I don’t know as I may say that

but it is much softer. The evening gun has just been fired off from one of the batteries next the sea, the signal, I suppose, for closing the harbor, and the echo sent back by the hills on either side was prolonged and repeated fainter and fainter for nearly a minute....

The coast at Marseilles and that I saw yesterday may be described in a few words: bare, jagged, sterile, rocky mountains; scarcely high enough to be picturesque, perfectly destitute of verdure, barely supporting here and there a few stunted olive-trees. We passed Toulon and had a distant view. We sailed between the mainland and the islands of Hyères, so remarkable for their fine climate and healthfulness, but they did not look very inviting to me.

When I rose this morning the scenery had become bolder and more interesting. We were where the Alps first come down to the sea, and we have since sailed along a coast so closely skirted by the Maritime Alps, the chain which passing into Italy forms the Apeninnes, that there is scarcely room to construct a road between. The loftier peaks, the whole day, were covered with snow, in fine contrast with the gray and sterile cliffs below and the dark blue sea which seems to lave their base, for the Mediterranean has the deep azure tint of mid-ocean quite up to the shore. There are many pretty villages also, which either seem hung on the mountain’s side or to rise out of the water. In one place I counted twelve in a single view, by no means a wide one. We passed Savona, the town where the pope lived while Napoleon was master of Italy. Here the hills are more fertile, and vines, olives, and oranges are cultivated wherever room or soil enough to plant them can be found....

In the harbor of Leghorn, Monday evening, five o’clock.

I must tell you of the pretty view I had Saturday night. My room, I think I mentioned, looked directly into the bay, and also gave me a fine view of the western part of the town, the mountains of that side of the bay, and peeping over them, the sharp crests of the Maritime Alps, still white with snow, and looking rather like bright clouds than a portion of terra firma.

While I was sleeping soundly, about two o’clock in the morning the moon shone into the window directly into my face, and thinking it a pity I should lose so fine a sight, she awoke me. She was near her full; she hung in the middle of the bay at just the proper angle that the flood of golden light she was pouring upon the tranquil sea was reflected directly to my eyes. The city, too, looked beautiful indeed, and the mountains, and even the Alps, were all visible. I enjoyed it for a long time, and went to bed again regretting that I had no one to share the scene with me.[93]