nearly as much as I would. Could I remain six months in this great focus of civilized life, the time would be all too short for my desires and needs.
My Essay on American Literature has been translated into French, and published in “La Revue Indépendante,” one of the leading journals of Paris; only, with that delight at manufacturing names for which the French are proverbial, they put, instead of Margaret, Elizabeth. Write to ——, that aunt Elizabeth has appeared unexpectedly before the French public! She will not enjoy her honors long, as a future number, which is to contain a notice of “Woman in the Nineteenth Century,” will rectify the mistake.
I have been asked, also, to remain in correspondence with La Revue Indépendante, after my return to the United States, which will be very pleasant and advantageous to me.
I have some French acquaintance, and begin to take pleasure in them, now that we can hold intercourse more easily. Among others, a Madame Pauline Roland I find an interesting woman. She is an intimate friend of Béranger and of Pierre Leroux.
We occupy a charming suite of apartments, Hotel Rougement, Boulevard Poissonière. It is a new hotel, and has not the arched gateways and gloomy court-yard of the old mansions. My room, thongh small, is very pretty, with the thick, flowered carpet and marble slabs; the French clock, with Cupid, of course, over the fireplace, in which burns a bright little wood fire; the canopy bedstead, and inevitable large mirror; the curtains, too, are thick and rich, the closet, &c., excellent, the attendance good. But for all this, one pays dear. We do not find that one can live pleasantly at Paris for
