The Weekly Visitor

RANDOM NOTES FROM FOREIGN LANDS.
Paris, June 20, 1878.
To-day has been another people's day. Sunday last was the great day of the year for the races, the "grand races," for everything in Paris must be "grand," or "splendid" or it would not be in harmony with French notions. The day was splendid, the turnout splendid, the Marshal President splendid, and the generals, subordinate officers and soldiers, all splendid—so that there were forty thousand or more splendid warriors on exhibition, whose evolutions were witnessed by at least one hundred thousand of the splendid people of Paris. But notwithstanding all this splendor, which included Madam MacMahon, or "Madam President" and her post riders, together with a sprinkling of crowned heads, thrown in to heighten the effect of the scene, it is already becoming dimmed by the mere anticipation of the manifold greater splendors of the grand review to take place in September, to be participated in by one hundred thousand troops, and all the host of royal ambassadors and titled dignitaries who may happen to be in Paris on the occasion, including, possibly, even some of the foreign commissioners also, I having received a card of admittance to this day's pageant. I shall, however, not be here to behold the glittering glory of the next and grandest of the grand reviews, but when I read of it at home I shall understand pretty thoroughly what is meant, and how it is the people go and enjoy themselves in such dense crowds as are always out on these gala days of Paris. It is really a superb and most exhilarating sight to see the people of Paris so entirely happy, as they certainly are on these festal days, while at night they literally fill the Boulevards until midnight, for the very pleasure of just looking at each other, as they promenade, or sit over their coffee, wine, ices, &c.
There is something to stimulate this military "fuss and feather," for not only are the soldiers themselves still smarting under the humiliation of their late terrible defeat, but the pride of the whole French nation has been touched, and to touch their pride is to wound their hearts. The knowing ones do not hesitate to claim that all this incitement to military ardor means something; that the French people are of one mind touching certain plans for the future; that they are preparing to work a change in the order of things, Saving in their hearts that "vengeance is theirs;" that they are teaching their children to hate a certain people, and are preparing as quietly as possible, but no less perseveringly, at whatever sacrifice, to make retribution sure. You will hear one put it in this way: That very soon such a thing as a siege of Paris will be an impossibility; that there are under construction eleven new forts for its protection, nine of which are about completed; that when these forts are fully armed and equipped it would require a besieging army of not less than two million of men to do much in the way of reducing Paris; that in four years these forts will be ready, and that another war will surely-surely follow their completion.
This feeling seems to pervade the minds of all classes, and every possible preparation appears to be in progress for something more "grand" and "splendid" in this direction than has ever heretofore entered into the heart of man or nature to conceive. The "grand" reviews are fully in keeping with these aspirations, and in many other ways the nation is showing its faith by its works. But a nation's life is sometimes destroyed by its own hand. France's education in the arts of war, now so thorough, may prove her future weakness, and another congress of the powers may be found the only means by which the problem of destiny can be solved.
I write but little of the exposition, partly because a report sufficiently comprehensive to be of interest to your readers would be a trespass upon your columns; but more especially because the admirable letters of Gov. Howard to the Providence Journal, which are doubtless perused by many of your readers, cover the subject so much better than I could do it.
D. G. L.
A sad and fatal accident occurred at the New York Juvenile Asylum on Tuesday. A number of youth were playing base ball, when the bat slipped from the hand of William Hamilton, twelve years of age, striking Jas Crowley behind the right ear and instantly killing him. The victim of this most unfortunate accident was fourteen years of age and has parents living and five brothers and sisters. The mother of the Hamilton boy is a widow. He is much afflicted and cast down by the accident.
The Park Avenue Hotel is the new name for Stewarts' Women's Hotel in New York. It is now open to the public, and is said to be magnificent in its appointments and as well patronized in its new capacity as it was poorly in its old. A gentleman of Providence, stopping there a few days since, counted names of travellers from some seventeen different States entered upon its register in one day.
Miss Lina Hurtos, while sitting on the porch of her home, in Avondale, a suburb of Cincinnati, on the 4th inst., suddenly fell dead. It was at first supposed that she was stricken with apoplexy, but an examination disclosed the fact that a bullet had entered her chest and passed out through her back, killing her instantly. It is not known who fired the shot.
The Thousand Islands in the St. Lawrence are rapidly becoming a much frequented place of summer resort. It has become very fashionable among people of wealth and culture to purchase an island and erect picturesque, beautiful and costly residences. A more attractive idea cannot well be imagined.
An absurd report of a serious injury to Senator Burnside, by the falling of a window is going the rounds of the press. We had the pleasure of seeing the General on Monday and hearing him personally say that the injury was of no importance. A slight bruise of perhaps the size of a dime only appears on his forehead.