I looked down from one of the tribunes upon the flower of the celebrities of France, that is to say, of the celebrities which are authentic, _comme il faut_.

Among them were many marked faces, many fine heads; but in reading the works of poets we always fancy them about the age of Apollo himself, and I found with pain some of my favorites quite old, and very unlike the company on Parnassus as represented by Raphael.
Some, however, were venerable, even noble, to behold.

Indeed, the literary dynasty of France is growing old, and here, as in England and Germany, there seems likely to occur a serious gap before the inauguration of another, if indeed another is coming.
However, it was an imposing sight; there are men of real distinction now in the Academy, and Moliere would have a fair chance if he were proposed to-day.

Among the audience I saw many ladies of fine expression and manner, as well as one or two _precieuses ridicules_, a race which is never quite extinct.
M.Remusat, as is the custom on these occasions, painted the portrait of his predecessor; the discourse was brilliant and discriminating in the details, but the orator seemed to me to neglect drawing some obvious inferences which would have given a better point of view for his subject.
A _seance_ to me much more impressive find interesting was one which borrowed nothing from dress, decorations, or the presence of titled pomp.

I went to call on La Mennais, to whom I had a letter, I found him in a little study; his secretary was writing in a larger room through which I passed.