STUDENT LIFE IN PARIS.

EDITORS HARVARD HERALD : The ins and outs of college life, portrayed so minutely in the HERALD, recall to my mind so vividly the year I spent at Harvard that I cannot forbear contrasting it with university life at Paris. It is but human nature that every mortal should complain of his lot - be it what it may. Thus it is, after the novelty of Harvard life has worn off and we become so accustomed to it that it seems an old story, that we begin to pick out this or that insignificant trifle about which to grumble and make ourselves unhappy - letting ourselves lose sight entirely of the prominent and well known fact that we are enjoying educational advantages unsurpassed by any in the world, and that there is no place in the world where to enjoy these advantages the student has more pleasant and agreeable surroundings, customs and sports to brace and cheer him after becoming fatigued by hard mental labor. I say the above that all of your readers who chance to run through this article may, as they follow the description of Paris university life, imagine themselves for the time being over here taking a cursory retrospective view of their respective lives at Harvard. They will soon, I think, begin to notice how rich and full of warmth is the coloring of Harvard life as they picture it to themselves.

Paris, the most cosmopolitan city in Europe, is not only renowned as being the gayest, but is also pre-eminently the greatest centre of all the different arts and professions. The professors of these different branches of knowledge, when renowned, are known as savants, are generally members of the Academie de Paris, and amuse themselves by appearing two or three times a week at the College de France or Sorbonne, where they pour forth masses of diverse knowledge to a most strange and motley mixture of mankind - of all nationalities - ranging from fifteen to eighty years of age. At the hour appointed for his lecture, the professor, generally attired in full dress, makes his appearance through a special door at the back, seats himself, mixes his sugar and water, rids himself as rapidly as possible of his researches, drinks his sugar and water, and retires as rapidly and mysteriously as he entered, by the same small back door. The near approach of a professor is invariably heralded by an attendant who places upon his desk a tray with decanter of water, tea-spoon, goblet and three lumps (never more) of sugar. The College de France, founded by Francis I. in 1530, was entirely rebuilt at different times between 1611 and 1774, and extended in 1831. Over the entrance the inscription, "Docet Omnia," indicates that its sphere embraces every branch of science and literature. The lectures being of a popular character are open gratis to the public, ladies included.

At the Sorbonne, erected in 1629 by Cardinal Richelieu, all the lectures are open to the public, except a few, styled conferences, to which only those are admitted who have acquired a baccalaureat or some other degree.

It so happened that the instruction given at these conferences coincided very well with the courses I had intended pursuing at Harvard; but how to obtain admittance to them was a problem that seemed to me well nigh incapable of being solved. I bethought myself of a certificate furnished me by our dean, and with a modest mien, determined to put it to practical use. With my indifferent French I explained with some difficulty to the authorities my desires, displayed the dean's certificate and the wonders of a systematically arranged catalogue of an American university, being exceedingly careful to give them an exalted idea of the amount of knowledge required for admission and of the extent of work accomplished by the freshman class. A consultation of a few minutes followed, and to my surprise I was informed that the Harvard examination for admission was equal to a French baccalaureat, and forthwith I was furnished with the necessary cards entitling me to the privileges of the Sorbonne Conferences. Upon the whole, I felt perfectly contented with Paris and her institutions after this piece of good fortune. Such is a brief account of my matriculation in a French university. It is nearly as simple as that of the Leipzig University, where for foreigners a passport alone suffices.

I am informed that the total number of students in the College de France and Sorbonne exceeds eight thousand, most of whom dwell in that section of Paris called the "Quartier Latin." Here it is that one sees and is able to judge of student life in its highest perfection. The Quartier is full of third and fourth rate "cafes," "brasseries" and "bals masques," and it is at these places that the French student seeks his recreation. He knows no sports, nor does he feel the need of any, for he is totally indifferent to the laws of health. He is most happy when with his comrades at some cafe where he can smoke, drink and play cards. He remains in his room as little as possible, as it is always uncomfortable and generally uninhabitable. If not at a cafe he is sure to be at some brasserie. The brasseries can be described briefly as cafes of the lowest character. Then, again, there is the masked ball, where the students congregate Thursday and Saturday nights - not only to make fools of themselves but to commit the grossest excesses. Refinement seems to be banished by common consent from the Latin Quartier, and to one who has determined to reside there a year it becomes long before the year is up a most loathsome and disgusting place. If an American graduate, he soon begins to sigh for home. If a Harvard student, he generally decides to return as soon as possible, where he can associate with men who strive to seek during a college course not only knowledge but culture and refinement of manners as well.

From this brief sketch of the main features of Paris university life, so repugnant to our ideas and notions of such a life, I am sure all will agree with me when I affirm that for mental and physical comfort there is no place like Fair Harvard. Yours, &c.,

SHERIDAN P. READ.PARIS, FRANCE, Feb. 9, 1883.