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 ‘Sentimental Journey,’—a book, by the way, which appears to be read a great deal in France,—and he wished to understand more. He frankly told me that he was a mechanic, who could only find time to study on Sundays, and that he could not afford to hire an instructor in English. He accordingly proposed to render me assistance in acquiring French, if I would return the same assistance to him with regard to English. The whole rencontre was so odd that I at first feared some deception, and buttoned my surtout so as to protect my pockets; but I was soon convinced that I did my friend injustice, and I gave him my card that he might know where to call upon me, if he saw fit. I talked with him perhaps three-quarters of an hour. Is this a specimen of the new-born zeal for knowledge in the humbler orders of Paris? After this passed through the Jardin des Plantes, an immense establishment devoted to botany, mineralogy, zoology, and comparative anatomy. My visit was short, so that I only saw the outside of a small portion. This place will necessarily require several future visits.
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