ADIEU TO FRANCE. 283
Thou hast a longing for the things that tend Unto thy hurt, and lovest all too well
The war-shout, and the long embattled line,
And pomp and fame, that martial triumphs swell,
Although thy life-blood cast its crimson stain,
Profuse o er Russia s snows, and Egypt s desert plain.
AVould it were better with thee ! It would cheer Mr in my home, amid my household care,
To think that all was prosperous in thy clime, All sound at heart, that to the eye is fajr ;
But now the fresh breeze curls the ocean blue,
And rocks the waiting boat. Delightful France, adieu !
��To the kind attentions of the present Marchioness La Vallette, a native of New England, whose house was my home during a great part of my stay in Paris, and whose only motive for such hospitality must have been the generous one of imparting happiness to a stranger, I am indebted for some of my most agreeable impres sions of that city, and of its inhabitants. Courtesy and deference to the feelings of others, throw a charm over the higher grades of society, and in some measure modify every class ; and if fine manners do not exactly belong to the family of the virtues, they surely help to beautify them. Among the ancient noblesse was one, the Count Roy, whose expressive countenance and unalloyed delight in social intercourse, made it diffi-
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