We see in this a better tone of taste in our own city, than in the city of the nation; and it will justify the opinion, which is not without other support, that the range of honorable delicacy is far lower in the city of our representatives, than in any city of their clients. Representatives leave their proprieties at home; and many a member would blush at a license within the purlieus of his own constituency, which he courts as an honor in the city of our Cæsars! We wish them joy of their devotion to the Danseuse, whom—though we count as humble as themselves in point of morals—we believe to be superior, mentally, to the bulk of her admirers.
As a token of French life and morals, we make out this sad little bit of romance from a recent paper:
A few days since, some boatmen upon the Seine saw what appeared to be a pair of human feet floating down the stream; manning their barge, they hastened to the spot, and succeeded in drawing from the water the body of a young woman, apparently about twenty-five years of age, and elegantly dressed; a heavy stone was attached to her neck by a cord. Within a small tin box, in the pocket of her dress, carefully sealed, was found the following note:
“My parents I have never known; up to the age of seven years, I was brought up by a good woman of a little village of the Department of the Seine and Marne; and from that time, to the age of eighteen I was placed in a boarding-house of Paris. Nothing but was provided for my education. My parents were without doubt rich, for nothing was neglected that could supply me with rich toilet, and my bills were regularly paid by an unknown hand.
“One day I received a letter; it was signed, ‘Your mother.’ Then I was happy!
“ ‘Your birth,’ she wrote me, ‘would destroy the repose of our entire family; one day, however, you shall know me: honorable blood flows in your veins, my daughter—do not doubt it. Your future is made sure. But for the present, it is necessary that you accept a place provided for you in the establishment of M——; and when once you have made yourself familiar with the duties of the place, you shall be placed at the head of an even larger establishment.’
“A few days after, I found myself in the new position. Years passed by. Then came the Revolution of February. From that fatal time I have heard nothing of my family. Alone in the world, believing myself deserted, maddened by my situation, I yielded, in an evil hour, to the oaths of one who professed to love me. He deceived me; there is nothing now to live for; suicide is my only refuge. I only pray that those who find this poor body, will tell my story to the world; and, please God, it may soften, the heart of those who desert their children!”
The story may be true or not, in fact; it is certainly true to the life, and the religion of Paris: and while such life, and such sense of duty remains, it is not strange that a Napoleon can ride into rule, and that the French Republic should be firmest under the prick of bayonets.