The Palais-Royal, the favourite resort of foreigners and provincials, also affords that convenience. Although Paris on the whole is not so regularly built as London, yet there is a sombre grandeur about it which has a fine effect, owing in some degree to the large lofty houses of which it is composed; the straightness, width, and neatness of the streets of London form its beauty, but it is astonishing how foreigners when they first behold it, are struck with the small size of the houses. I remember entering London with an Italian gentleman who had ever before been accustomed to the large massive palaces of Genoa, Florence, etc., and the first remark he made upon our grand metropolis was that it looked like a city of baby houses; another feature in our dwellings does not please the foreign eye, and that is the dingy colour of our bricks, which certainly has not so light an appearance as stone, of which the houses on the Continent are generally built. The irremediable defect in Paris is certainly the narrowness of the streets, although every opportunity is turned to advantage by the government when houses are taken down to compel the proprietors to rebuild them in such a manner as to afford a yard more width to the public, whilst those streets that are at present constructing are on a magnificent plan. The great beauty of Paris consists in its public monuments, which certainly are not only very numerous, but some upon the grandest scale, independent of those which are generally conspicuous in a city; the Barriers and Fountains form a considerable feature in Paris amongst its ornaments.

The Parisians generally are a remarkably persevering and industrious people, amongst the trading classes, particularly the women, who often take as ostensible a part in business as their husbands; except that it is an establishment upon a very large scale, the wife is usually the cashier, and you will find her as stationary at the counter almost as the counter itself. The idea that exists in England with respect to married women in France is quite erroneous, for more domestic and stay at home is impossible to be, that is amongst the middle classes; the same remark applies to the lower orders. As to the higher classes they never can be cited as forming a characteristic in any country; receiving a highly finished education, they are all brought to the same degree of polish, and the primitive features are entirely effaced. Good nature is a very conspicuous trait in the French character, and that is continually displayed towards any foreigner; ask your way in the street in a polite manner, and generally the persons become interested in your finding the place you want, and if they do not know themselves, they will go into a shop and enquire for you, and not feel easy until they have ascertained it for you, but it depends much upon the manner in which you address them. A Doctor Smith related to me a circumstance which proves how different is the effect of a courteous and an uncourteous mode of speaking to a Frenchman; the Doctor had with him a friend who was a regular John Bull, and they wishing to know their way to some place, the latter stepped up to a butcher who was standing at his door and asked him in a very rough manner, and received an evasive reply; the Doctor then put the same question to the man but in a more polite form, the butcher replied, "If you will wait a minute, Sir, I will put on my coat and show you the way," which he did in the most good humoured manner, but remarked to the Doctor that every one in France liked to be treated as a fellow man, and not to be spoken to as if they were brutes. Thus it appears that even butchers in France expect to be treated with some degree of politeness.

The women are still more tenacious in that respect than the men; they consider, even down to a housemaid, that their sex demands a certain tone of deference, however humble their position, and if a nobleman did not touch his hat to them when they open or shut the door for them, with the usual salutation of good day or good morning, they would pronounce his manners brutal, and say, that although he was a man of title he was not a gentleman; hence the very unceremonious manner that an Englishman has of addressing servants, whether male or female, has kept them very much out of favour with that class of the French community. A scullion, or what may be termed a girl of all work, that has not met with that degree of respect from some of our countrymen to which she considered herself entitled, will remark, that the English may be very rich, but they certainly are not enlightened as we are, with a little drawing up of the head, implying their consciousness of superiority over us semi-barbarians; your charwoman, your washerwoman's drudge, fishwoman, or girl that cries turf about the streets, are all Madame and Mademoiselle when they speak of each other, and with them there is no such word as woman; if a female, she must be a lady, even if her occupation be to pick up rags in the street. The French women certainly excel in the art of dress and everything which appertains to the decoration of the person, but the devotion which exists amongst them to that passion tends greatly towards frivolising the mind; hence I find their inferiority, generally speaking, to English women; in the latter you will often meet, even amongst the middle classes, with a girl who has received a good education; forming her pleasures from pursuits which are purely intellectual, she will not only find enjoyment in that light reading merely calculated to amuse, or that kind of music which consists of pretty quadrilles, a few trifling songs, and two or three lessons adapted for the display of execution, or that style of poetry and of painting which is something of the same nature, just fit to please the fancy without touching the heart; no, you will find that she enters into the very soul of those mental recreations, nor does that interfere with her domestic virtues; she is equally capable of performing every social duty, but she devotes not so considerable a portion of her time and thoughts to dress, nor is she so totally absorbed in the anticipation and retrospection of balls and soirees, to the exclusion of every other feeling, as long as the season for parties continues, which is but too much the case with females in Paris, except with those whose business or occupations prevent them from participating otherwise than very sparingly in the gaieties of that description; but the class I allude to in France, is that which consists of persons of independent fortune, who have never been connected with anything in the shape of trade or even professions, except army or navy, yet whose property is too small to estimate them as belonging to the higher classes, whilst they would consider themselves as degraded by an association with even the richer tradespeople, generally coming under the denomination of middle classes. This grade, immediately below the highest classes and above the middle, is very numerous in Paris, their incomes varying from four hundred to a thousand a-year; with the females in this class there is an exact resemblance to those of the class above, only the sphere is more confined; their education finished, they retain but little of what they have learned, except dancing, singing, and music, because they are calculated for display, and tell in society; drawing is laid aside, even after much proficiency had been acquired, reading confined to the reviews of the popular works of the day, the inexhaustible subjects of conversation are the toilet, which is pre-eminent, balls, soirees, and public places; if literature be introduced, you will find their knowledge of it sufficient to escape the charge of ignorance, particularly in history, as great pains are now taken with their education, and which certainly is of the best description, whilst there is a grace and sweetness of manner which is highly captivating; yet when you become well acquainted with these ladies, whose surface was enchanting, you find at last a want of soul. As a proof how seldom I have found French females express any delight in beholding all the phenomena of an extensive and beautiful country, and if the mind be dead to that charm, how must it be lost to the enjoyments of descriptive poetry and painting, as if the reality afford not pleasure how little can be derived from the representation; I have found in France many exceptions to this rule, women, in fact, whose society afforded a highly intellectual treat. But they are rare, and when one speaks of a people generally, the mass must be stated and not the exceptions. In England, even amongst the classes of the highest fashion, many women are to be met with, who, notwithstanding that they are whirled about in London for months together to parties every night, sometimes to three or four in an evening, to hear and say the nothings that pass current in assemblages of that description, both deteriorating to health and mind, yet on returning to their seats in the country, whilst the husband is following the sports of the field, the females will have recourse to intellectual occupations, and cultivate those seeds of knowledge which had been instilled into their minds during their early youth, thus conferring upon them those companionable powers, which are the great charm of life; the rural scenes around them call their pencils into practice, whilst the true spirit of poetry constantly appears to their feelings in the forms of those beauties of nature which in fact are its life and soul. Embosomed in the calm retirement found in such retreats, the various objects in view engender the love of reading; hence the Englishwoman recruits her mental powers after the frivolizing effects of a season in town. The Frenchwoman goes into the country for the purpose of enjoying the fresh air, she reads a little to kill time, and occupies much of it with her embroidery and other fancy works, and after a short period passed amongst the vine-clad hills, sighs once more to return to her dear Paris, complains of ennui, wonders what the fashions will be at the next Longchamp, and whether they will be such as become her or not, but feeling herself bound to wear whatever may be pronounced the modes, and trusts to her taste to arrange it in such a manner as to set her off to the best advantage.

My countrywomen are not so much slaves to fashion and do not care to put on every thing that comes out, if they think it does not suit them, but it must be admitted that they have not the same taste as the French in regard to costume; it is a quality that is peculiar to them, and acknowledged by all the civilised world; in England, Russia, even Greece, ladies of the high ton must send to Paris for their hats and bonnets, and have them from Madame de Barennes, in the Place Vendome, which is not merely an idea, but a fact that they really are replete with that exquisite taste for which they are so justly famed; even the manner in which her lofty and noble saloons are arranged display an elegance of conception, there is a chasteness which pervades the whole, the furniture as Well as the decorations of the room are either of white or ebony and gold, preserving that degree of keeping which is inseparable from a truly classical taste.

I must confess that the most refined, the most charming and fascinating women that I ever met with, were some English and Irish ladies who had been some years in France, still retaining all those intellectual qualities which are the brightest gems of the British female character, united with that quiet grace which has so much of dignity and ease, and that pleasing affability appearing but as nature in a truly elegant Frenchwoman; at the same time I think my fair countrywomen are also much improved when they have acquired the same degree of taste in the arrangement of their costume for which the Parisian females have so well merited a reputation. Of course in this comparison I am speaking of the most well-bred females of both countries. Although I do not find the French ladies possessing those high intellectual qualities, which are in a great degree engendered and fostered by certain habits and early associations, I do not conceive that the germs of talent are in the least deficient, but on the contrary, we find them excelling in literature and the arts, in ingenuity, and where exertion is required in trying circumstances, that they are capable of heroism, but there is a natural life and vivacity in the French character that inclines not to study, nor strict application, unless the position in life renders it necessary. The English very frequently are by nature disposed to reflection and even like often to be alone, consequently are undoubtedly a more thinking nation, although not so brilliant, but experience has proved that patient and undeviating perseverance, ultimately, outsteps the more showy and sparkling quality of genius. For the sympathies of the heart I have found the French females most keenly alive, no mothers can be more devotedly attached to their children than they are, and it is repaid to them with interest by their offspring, as a devotional affection towards parents is carried to an extreme; in some instances I should say to a fault, as a daughter in general looks up entirely to them, in regard to the man that they may choose with whom she is to pass the rest of her life, without presuming that she ought to make a selection for herself, considering that her marriage is the affair of her parents, and that she has but to obey their wishes in that, as well as in all other cases; hence it is rarely found that a French young lady has aught of romance in her composition, but is on the contrary the mild, docile, obedient, and affectionate pupil, and often imitator of her mother. The English young lady is a little more rebellious; possessing a more independent spirit, she very soon takes the liberty of thinking for herself, particularly on that subject; and could she totally have her will would act for herself also. Families are much more united in France than in England, and agree together in a most astonishing manner; thus when a daughter marries, instead of quitting her home, the husband arranges his affairs so as to go and live with her parents, and in many cases several families live together and form one little community, which spares the pain of separation of parent and child. The numerous offspring of the celebrated Marquis de Lafayette was a remarkable instance of how whole families can live and agree under the same roof; at his seat called La Grange, his married children and their children and grandchildren were all residing together, whilst he, like one of the ancient patriarchs, was the revered head of his people. I know a case at Boulogne, where in one house there are living together, two great grandfathers, one grandfather and grandmother, two fathers and two mothers and their four children, and what renders it more curious is that they are half English and half French, but all connected by their sons and daughters intermarrying; but strange to say that the English could not agree to live together in that manner, and it is a most extraordinary circumstance much remarked by the French, that wherever the English are settled in any town in France, they always contrive to quarrel with each other, and find employment for the French lawyers; at Boulogne they have at least twice as much practice for the English as for the natives.

With regard to the conduct of the French towards foreigners, speaking from the long experience which I have had, I should certainly state that it was kind and attentive when brought into contact in travelling or from any other circumstances, provided that a person does not attempt to support a haughty or supercilious air. I do not consider that, generally speaking, the French are so hospitable as the English, not only as regards foreigners but even amongst themselves; it is not so much their habit. In many houses you may pass an hour or two of an evening, and there will never be any question regarding refreshments; not having the custom of taking tea of an evening, that social bond which unites the family together at a certain hour in England not existing in France, little domestic evening parties seldom occur. I have been to a few amongst what I call the very quiet families of Paris, which are styled the demi fortunes, and cakes, beer, wine, sugar and water, etc., were given; in the high fashionable parties tea now is always introduced at about twelve. To ask a friend to a family dinner is not so much the practice in France as in England, as the custom existing in the former of having so many dishes with such a trifle in each, the platters are often pretty well cleared by the usual inmates of the establishment, and they are not prepared for an additional person. With the English who are accustomed to large joints, if two or three additional guests suddenly enter, they are still prepared. The French have also an idea that if they ask you to dinner that they must provide so great a variety, which entails infinitely more trouble than the more simple and more wholesome repast, I should say, of the English.

There is a great sympathy in France towards each other in their respective classes; if a quarrel take place in the street between one of the lower and one of the middle class, all that pass by of the former description will take the part of the individual of his own level; the same will be the case with the other classes, often without inquiring into the merits of the case. The impulse of feeling exists to a great degree amongst the French, which is instantly displayed if a person falls or is taken ill in the street, and much feeling is developed if any little accident or misfortune occurs to a poor person passing by. I remember an instance of a woman who was trudging away with a basket of crockery and some eggs at the top, a poor man who was carrying a load slipped, and in his fall upset the woman and broke the greater part of her brittle goods; in this case both being poor persons, it became a knotty point for the French to decide; very long and very warm were the arguments adduced on both sides by the mob which had assembled, the man declared he was too poor to have it in his power to pay for the damage which he had caused, that he had hurt himself very much in the fall and found that quite misfortune enough for him. The woman cried and vowed she could not afford to lose the value of the articles broken, and the eggs belonged to another person who had given her the money to buy them, and persisted that the man ought to pay for what he had broken, although she admitted it was a very hard case for him; what was to be done? a subscription it was decided was the only means of settling the affair, and one person giving half a franc by way of example, engaged to be collector, and from the different bystanders, each giving a few sous, the sum required was soon produced, and all parties departed with the conviction that the affair had been equitably arranged.

The French are in the habit of rising extremely early, especially the lower classes, and even amongst the middle and higher ranks they are rarely so late in all their operations as the English. Persons in easy circumstances amongst the French generally take coffee, with a piece of bread, as soon as they are up, and then breakfast a la fourchette about twelve, which consists of soup, meat, vegetables, fruit, and wine; they dine about six or seven, which is a repetition of the breakfast, with greater variety and more abundance. Wine is drank throughout the dinner, and never after; but light as their vin ordinaire generally is, they always dilute it with water. Immediately after dinner, coffee, without milk or cream, is taken, and lastly a glass of liqueur; no other repast is thought of until the following day, as they neither take tea nor supper, in their usual family habits. But in cases of invitation it is quite another affair, several different wines of superior quality are handed about at dinner, with which they do not mix water, and always Champagne of course is drank without being diluted. When they give a soiree, a variety of refreshments are produced, as different descriptions of cakes, ices, orgeat and water, punch, warm wine, limonade, etc., according to the season of the year; and often a supper is given on a very liberal scale. Dancing, music, singing, and cards form the amusements of the evening; the games which are played are generally ecarte and whist.

The passion for dancing pervades all classes, and even amongst the lowest orders they always find the means of gratifying themselves with that pleasure, but in all their enjoyments down to the public-houses in the worst quarters of Paris, there is a degree of decorum which surprises an Englishman accustomed to the extreme grossness of similar classes in our own country. Determined to see as much of life as I could in all its stages during a carnival, accompanied by a countryman I visited many of the lowest order of wine houses where balls were going forward; the only payment required for entrance was the purchase of a bottle of wine, costing six sous. We expected to see a good deal of uproarious mirth and all kinds of pranks going forward, but were quite astonished to find the order that prevailed; the men appeared as if they were in such a hurry for a dance that they had not waited until they washed their hands and faces, but had just come directly from their work, although several of them had slipped on masquerade dresses; the women were cleaner (I suspect they were not of the most immaculate description), and were amusing themselves with quadrilles and waltzes alternately. Being of course very differently attired from the rest of the assemblage, we were very conspicuous, but they took no notice of us whatever; if they happened to run against us whilst waltzing and whirling about, they always said "Je vous 'mande pardon, Monsieur," and nothing farther. We observed that the men paid for the musicians two sous each dance and the women one, and we came away rather disappointed at finding things so much more insipid than we expected; we visited several houses of the same description and found the same sort of scene going forward in them all. The working people in Paris are extremely frugal in their mode of living; bread being full seven-eighths of their food, what they eat with it varies according to the season; if in summer, mostly such fruit as happens to be ripe, and perhaps once in the day they take a bit of soft white-looking cheese with their bread. In winter they often add instead, a little morsel of pork or bacon, but more frequently stewed pears or roasted apples. On Sundays they always put the pot-au-feu, as they call it, which means that they make soup, or literally translated, that they put the pot on the fire. Henry IV declared that he should not feel satisfied until he had so ameliorated the condition of the poor, that every peasant should be able to have a fowl in his pot every Sunday; had he not suddenly been cut off by assassination, he might have lived to have seen his benevolent wish accomplished. Many of the wives of the working people contrive to muster some soup for their husbands when they get home at night, and almost all manage to have a little wine in the course of the day. On the Sunday in the summer time they contrive to have a degree of pleasure, and go to one of the houses round Paris called guinguettes, something in the nature of the tea-gardens about London, but in Paris and most parts of France the husband takes his wife and even his children with him if they are old enough; indeed, you generally see the whole train together. At these houses they mostly take beer which is not very strong, but they make it less so by mixing it with water, as they do almost every beverage; sometimes they have wine, lemonade, or currant juice, which is called groseille, and that from the black currant cassis; there they will sit looking at the dances, in which they sometimes join, and return home about ten o'clock. This is pretty much the routine of a regularly conducted working-man in Paris, and it must be admitted that they form by far the greater number, particularly those who are married.

Amongst the middle-classes, both husband and wife keep very steadily to business, particularly the latter, and as they live frugally, they generally calculate upon retiring from business in ten or twelve years, and mostly effect their object, as they are perfectly contented when they have amassed enough capital to produce three or four hundred a year, which is the case with the major part of them; many are not satisfied until four or five times that sum; but they are seldom ambitious, nor care to get out of their class, as the persons with whom they associate and are intimate, are mostly relations and connexions to whom they are attached, and do not seem to fancy any pleasure in extending their acquaintances. But before they retire from business they have their occasional recreations; in fine weather they are very fond of spending their Sundays in the country; in the winter they frequently visit the theatres, but very rarely have company at home or pay visits, except on the New Year, and in the Carnival they give one ball, and go to several others given by their relations; this description alludes to what may be termed the respectable class of shopkeepers. They have one means of communication with each other, of which they avail themselves for the advantages of business or for the purpose of recreation, if they choose, which consists of what they term Cercles, much the same as we should call clubs; they are establishments composed of perhaps 150 members, more or less, who meet in a suite of apartments fitted up for the purpose, and certainly most elegantly, both as regards the decoration of the rooms and the furniture they contain. A clerk is employed, whose business it is to collect information as to the different merchants who arrive at Paris from the various parts of France and other countries; they find out the particular branch in which he deals, and that member whose business it is to vend the commodity likely to be demanded, sends him a programme of his goods and his terms. If any one receive a commission from any country which is not in his department, he proclaims it to the Cercle, and gives a fellow-member the benefit of the order; thus they play into each other's hands and greatly promote their mutual interests. Billiard-tables are fitted up for the amusement of the members, who also occupy themselves with other games, whilst refreshments are to be had the same as in a coffee-house. There are many of these establishments in Paris, which afford great facilities for the promotion of business. Although the extraordinary increase of trade in Paris is almost incredible, yet the bankrupts are more numerous than they were formerly; one reason is, on account of the number of persons in each business having so much increased, and the immense expenses which they incur in the embellishment of their shops to try and outvie each other. A person taking a place in the Palais Royal about three years since, first gave the occupier 40,000 francs (1,600l.) to quit, and then expended 110,000 francs (4,400l.) in fitting it up as a restaurateur's; the rent being high in proportion, the success was not commensurate with the expenditure and the speculation failed. This is one of the many instances which have recently occurred at Paris, causing bankruptcy; yet some persons have laid out more than double the amount in the decorations for restaurateurs and coffee-houses, and yet have succeeded.

The occupations of the higher classes in Paris are much the same as they are in other capitals; both sexes are more fond of taking baths than they are in London, and even when they have that convenience in their own houses, the men often prefer lounging to the most fashionable public baths. The young sparks of fashion are very fond of sumptuous breakfasts at the most stylish coffee-houses in Paris, and often begin by taking a few dozen of oysters by way of giving them an appetite; beefsteaks dressed in the English style, a few choice French dishes, two or three sorts of wine, desert, and coffee, generally compose the repast until the dinner hour. The time is filled up with walking, riding, driving, practising gymnastic exercises, pistol-shooting, fencing, etc. After dinner, which usually terminates about eight, and is in fact the same thing as the breakfast on a more extensive scale, they proceed to the theatres; those most in vogue with the beau monde are the Italian Opera, the French Opera or Academie de Musique, the Comic Opera, and the Theatre Francais. After the performances are over, they generally lounge into some favourite coffee-house, and then close the day to recommence another, following much the same course, with some trifling variation. But now the favourite pursuit amongst young men of fashion, is that of riding and every thing which is connected with horses, such as racing, leaping, steeple chasing, and discussing their different qualities and the various modes of breaking them in, in England and in France.

But there is no subject upon which there is so much difference of opinion between the two nations as upon that of equestrian exercises and the management and training of horses. Our bold fox-hunters and daring steeple chasers, I am aware, will not for an instant imagine that there are any riders to be found equal to Englishmen, whilst the French, although they give us credit for doing many things better than themselves, do not at all admire our horsemanship. They admit that our good riders are not easily thrown, and keep their seat under many difficult and dangerous circumstances, but they contend that the English generally have not sufficient command over their horses in making them obey every wish of the rider, whilst the accomplished French cavalier will make his horse go backwards, sideways, right, or left, in a direct line, will cause him to stop in an instant whilst at full speed, will make him bear on his near or off leg just as he chooses, or make him place either foot on a five franc piece, and in fact have the same command over his horse as if it were his child. There are many riding-masters now in Paris of superior talent, but for rendering his pupils dauntless horsemen, capable of mounting any animal however restive, I do not think that any can be found to surpass M. de Fitte. I have seen him place his best pupils upon a horse, which upon signals given, will rear upon his hind or his forelegs, changing from one to the other with such rapidity and in such constant succession that the rider cannot the least foresee what prank the horse is about to play, and therefore cannot be prepared for what he has to encounter, whilst he is seated on a saddle without stirrups or bridle, as with folded arms he defies every manoeuvre his steed essays to throw him. The riding-school of Mr. Fitte is at No. 113, rue Montmartre, next to the great establishment of the Messageries royales, from whence depart the diligences for all parts of France. He has always about forty horses of different countries and descriptions; amongst them are some especially trained for ladies, and such as will be found well adapted to the most bold and the most timid rider, which he lets out at very moderate terms.

Any person must feel gratified at being present when he gives his evening lessons to his pupils, as amongst other exercises he practises them in what is called the jeu de bague, which consists of rings loosely suspended from a post, whilst the rider carries a lance, and in passing by at full gallop endeavours to run it through the ring, which is about two inches in diameter, and is hung in such a manner that it yields to the lance and remains upon it whilst the rider, without stopping, proceeds at full speed and takes off the next. Two persons are generally exercised together at this game, and he who takes off the most rings wins. It is a useful practice now adopted in almost all the riding-schools in Paris, as it teaches the pupil to forget his seat, giving him another object to occupy his mind, till at last the young pupil feels as easy upon a horse at full gallop as seated in his chair, his whole attention being directed towards taking off more rings with his lance than his competitor. Mr. Fitte during the lesson also himself displays what can be done with different horses, in giving them that sort of motion which he thinks proper, which is principally produced by operating upon the animal with the muscles of the calves of the legs, of which the French avail themselves much more in the management of a horse than the English.

It appears quite a new era in the annals of horsemanship that an approved English riding-master should come over to France to place himself for two years under a French riding-master, yet such I know to be the case. Mr. F.W., the person to whom I allude, had long been accustomed to mount horses of all descriptions, with the full confidence of always being able to keep his seat; but when at Paris he met with a master who could not only defy any horse to throw him, but under all circumstances could always preserve a graceful position, even while baffling every attempt of a horse to floor him. In order to try the capabilities of Mr. W., the French master placed him on all kinds of horses, and amongst the rest those which had been taught all sorts of tricks to fling their riders, but W. resisted all their attempts, but it was by keeping his seat in his own way, which he knew had an awkward air, when compared to the graceful mien the Frenchman preserved throughout the same evolutions.

Another art he strove also to acquire from his master, that of dominating the most vicious horse to a degree that shall render it so docile that any moderate horseman may mount it in safety. This was effected by the French riding-master (with whom W. placed himself), under the most extraordinary circumstances; a horse was offered him of extreme beauty, but so totally unmanageable that it had been given up by three rough riders of regiments in England, and was almost considered as worthless, as no one could be found to ride it; the Frenchman undertook in one year so to tame its restive spirit as to render it a valuable horse for any rider. The owner quitted France, but agreed to return in a twelvemonth, when they were to divide the amount of what the horse might sell for; but it so happened that the owner did not return for eighteen months, and when the twelvemonth had expired the riding-master considered the horse his own and sold it to Franconi for 20,000 francs (800l.), having so completely taught the horse to obey its master, as to make it dance to music, to bear upon which leg he chose to dictate, and in fact to do more than I shall venture to state, as were I to give an accurate description it must appear an exaggeration, having met with several Englishmen who with myself have declared they never could have believed, had they not had ocular demonstration, that a horse could have been taught to do that which the animal in question has nightly exhibited at Franconi's. When the owner did return, he claimed the half of the value the horse had fetched, but the riding-master pleaded that the contract was annulled by his not making his claim at the time agreed upon between them; the other persisting in his demand, the affair was referred to a Court of Justice, and decided in favour of the riding-master, and it is said that Franconi has since refused 40,000 francs for the horse.

There is one peculiarity in the English style of riding which is remarked all over the Continent, and that is, the rising in the saddle, or what is termed, adopting one's own motion, instead of that of the horse, which is certainly much rougher and not so agreeable, and for my own part I have found it a great relief when upon a long journey; of course it is never adopted by our cavalry, and the French contend that to sit as close as possible, partaking of the motion of the horse, as soon as the rider is accustomed to it he will travel farther, and with less fatigue than by what is termed the English method. M. de Fitte however thinks differently from his countrymen in that respect. It is also considered that in both our riding and driving we rein in our horses far too much, the consequence being that the animal, accustomed to be held up by the rider or driver, depends upon it, as what is called his fifth leg, and if there be any negligence in thus sustaining him, he immediately trips and often comes to the ground; whereas the horse who is habituated to a looser rein goes more boldly, depending on the powers nature has given him, and carries his head lower, and of course sees his ground better, avoiding that which might occasion a false step; and certainly the horses in France very seldom fall, except in frost or snow, when strange to say the French have never had the wit to have them rough-shod.

Notwithstanding all that is said upon the subject I have found the advantage of keeping a tighter rein upon my horse than they are in the habit of practising in Turkey, as although in a journey which I had of seven hundred miles on horseback in that country they found great fault with my riding, yet I kept my seat, and my horse upon his legs, without once coming to the ground, when the Tatar, the Surdjee, and my travelling companion were alternately prostrated from the falling of their horses, which I attribute to their not being able to check them in time when they tripped, to prevent their totally sprawling; it is true that some parts of the road could only be compared to a street having been unpaved and all the stones left loose upon the ground over which we had to ride, consequently I took the greatest care, never for an instant neglecting any precaution to keep my hack from stumbling. But where a horse is liable to come upon his knees, certainly the system of rising in the saddle is most unsafe, and I never met with any one who could better teach his pupils to sit close and firm even with the roughest trot than M. de Fitte, who, not content with precept, himself furnishes the example. Amongst his pupils, are many of the fair sex as the French ladies are now beginning to imitate the gentlemen in their passion for equestrian exercises, and frequently in the Champs-Elysees and Bois de Boulogne display the progress they have made in the art.

Although their pursuits are not so numerous nor so various as those of the men, yet their opportunities of killing time are greater; as shopping alone employs often some hours of the day, the importance attached to a bonnet, a cap, a turban and above all to a dress, causes many and long dissertations. Exhibitions and morning concerts frequently occupy also much of the ladies' leisure, a little walking in the Tuileries gardens at a certain hour and in a certain part whilst their carriage waits for them, an airing in it, or a turn on horseback, fill up the rest of the day, and after dinner, if not at the theatre, they either receive or pay visits, as it is the fashion to do so of an evening in Paris.

I must not quit this sketch of the Parisians and their occupations without giving my readers some idea of what is called La Jeune France, which consists of a number of young men, who wear comical shaped hats, their hair very long hanging below their ears, and let the greater part of their beards grow; they also have their throats bare and their shirt collars turned down; they have rather a wild look, and their political theories are somewhat wilder than their looks; they are republican in principle, and in manner, adopting a sort of rough abrupt style, as far from courteous as can well be imagined. They amount to perhaps a few thousands in Paris, comprising a number of the students in law and medicine, many of the painters, musical professors, and at least half the literary characters in Paris; some of them are either the editors their subs or the communicators to two-thirds of the newspapers at Paris. I must do them the justice to say that I believe they mean well, and that they are actuated by pure principles of patriotism, full of candour and of courage, but mistaken in their views, led away by false notions imbibed from an enthusiastic admiration of the deeds of heroes, recorded in the histories of Rome and Greece, until they imagine that they are bound in modern days to re-enact the glorious examples of their progenitors in their self devotion for their country; hence the wonderful resistance that they made in 1832, which although in a bad cause, proved their contempt for life, and how ready they were to risk it in what they falsely thought their country's cause.

But as they get older and reflect more, they become more temperate in their mode of reasoning, at present, and indeed for some time past, they have been more calm and one hears less of them.



CHAPTER V.

Anecdotes illustrative of the ideas, feelings, and characters of the Parisians, also narrating some of their most striking national peculiarities.

The French generally have been celebrated for possessing no inconsiderable share of conceit, but in regard to a most exalted respect for themselves, the Parisians far surpass all their provincial brethren; the very circumstance of their happening to be born in Paris, they imagine at once confers upon them a diploma of the very highest acme of civilisation, causing them to feel a sort of pity for a person who is born elsewhere; however, as one of these enlightened spirits once observed to me, that a person might by coming to live at Paris in the course of time imbibe the same tone of refinement. Now this was said in all the true spirit of human kindness; he knew that I was not born in Paris, and conceiving that I might feel the bitterness of that misfortune, though it might afford me a degree of consolation to be assured, that there were some means of repairing the disadvantages under which I laboured, from not having made my entrance to the world in the grand metropolis of France.

It matters not how low may be the calling of a Parisian, he will still flatter himself that the manner in which he acquits himself in the department in which he is placed, evinces a degree of superiority over his fellow labourer, and gratifies his amour propre with the thought. Even a scavenger would endeavour to persuade you that he has a peculiar manner of sweeping the streets exclusively his own, and that his method of shovelling up the mud and pitching it into the cart is quite unique, and in fact that his innate talent is such that, it has eventually placed him at the summit of his profession. This may appear, perhaps, to some of my readers rather overdrawn, but the following instance which came under my own observation is not much less extravagant.

A man who was in the habit of cleaning my boots, had a most incorrigible propensity for garrulity, and as I like in a foreign country to obtain some insight into the ideas and feelings of all classes, I did not care to check the poor fellow in the indulgence of his favourite penchant, particularly as his remarks were always proffered with a tone of the most profound respect for my august person. Finding one morning that my boots had not been polished quite so well as usual, the next time I saw the shoeblack I mentioned the circumstance to him. "Ah! Sir," he exclaimed with a deep sigh, "that is one of the many instances of the ingratitude of human nature; I confided those boots to the boy whom you must have seen come with me to fetch yours and the other gentlemen's shoes or clothes for brushing, etc. Well, sir, that young urchin is a protege of mine; I took him, sir, from the lowest obscurity and made him what he is; I taught him my profession, I endowed him with all the benefit of my experience, and with respect to blacking shoes, I have initiated him into all the little mysteries of the art, and can declare that there is not one in the business throughout all Paris that can surpass him, when he chooses to exert his talents; and therefore it renders it the more unpardonable that he should slight one of my best customers." Judging, I suppose, from the expression of my countenance that I did not appear to be deeply infused with a very exalted idea of what he termed the mysteries of his art, he continued, "You may think as you please, sir, but there is much more ability required in blacking shoes than you may imagine, and that boy is well aware of it; he knows how I began by first instructing him in all the fundamental principles of the art; and gradually led him on until I accomplished him in giving the last polish, and can now proudly say he is a true artist in the profession."

On entering a diligence once at Lyons, I found two persons in it, of very decent aspect; the one a middle aged man, the other a youth of about eighteen or nineteen; the former soon found an opportunity of informing me that he was a Parisian, but lest that should not adequately impress me with a sufficiently high idea of his importance, he added that he was chef de cuisine to the Duke of ——, and that Monsieur, pointing to the youth opposite, was an aspirant, who had been placed under his auspices. The young man bowed assent, and appeared most sensibly to feel the vast magnitude of the honours to which he was aspiring; but the whole was announced with such an air of solemnity and consequence, that a minister of state with his secretary would never have attempted to assume. An Englishman under the same circumstances would have merely said, "I am head cook to the Duke of —— and that young man is my 'prentice." However, my travelling companions were overpoweringly civil, and I of course was deeply awed by finding myself in company with such elevated personages, of which they no doubt were sensible, and where we stopped for dinner they gave us the benefit of their professional talent, by entering the kitchen, giving the inmates to understand who they were, and the advantage of advice gratis, as to the arrangement of such dishes for which they were still in time to superintend; and when we sat down at the table d'hote, the chef de cuisine did not fail to inform me that he had done as much as laid in his power to ensure our having a good dinner, as my being a foreigner he was particularly anxious that France should sustain her high reputation for the culinary art in my estimation; but regretted that in the first place he arrived too late to effect much good, and indeed, had he come before it would have been but of little avail; for the provincials were such complete barbarians, that it was difficult for an enlightened person to commune with them: that absolutely he and they appeared to be quite of another species.

It is a happy circumstance for the French, that their pride does not consist in a desire to get out of their station, but an extreme anxiety to exaggerate the importance of the station in which they are placed; a cook, for example, has the most exalted idea of the art of cookery, and wishes to impress everyone with the same idea of its high importance, and all his ambition is to be considered a cook of the first-rate talent. In England it is different, one of the great objects with a tradesman is the hope, that by making his fortune he shall be enabled to get out of his class and take a higher walk in society. For this purpose they bring their sons up to the liberal professions, and often retire into the country at a distance from London, where they flatter themselves that the circumstance of their having been in business may not travel; their plan seldom succeeds, but has in several instances when they have come over to France, as being rich, appearing respectable, and their children highly educated, they have obtained the entree to French society, which has ultimately led to that of the English. I remember one instance of a hatter marrying his five daughters to persons of the higher classes, three to English and two to French, who now with their father have that position in society, into which at one period he never could have dreamed of entering; had they remained in England, they would have had but little chance of emerging from their original station, even with the aid of all their wealth.

Street scenes often afford amusing exhibitions of natural characteristics; I remember one which I witnessed, which developed a feeling truly French; two common-looking men had been disputing for some time, when one upbraided the other with want of delicacy and not having a nice sense of honour, but finding his reproaches made but little impression upon the accused, at last said, "As I see you are destitute of any mental susceptibility, I must try if you have any bodily feeling, and thrash you as I would a dog or any other brute." So saying, he advanced to put his threat into execution, but the assailed proving far the strongest, soon overcame the assailant and laid him prostrate; rising from the ground, he regarded the conqueror with a dignified air, and said, "Yes! you have the physical force, but I have the force of reason," and with a flourish of the head he strutted off with as triumphant a demeanour as if he had vanquished a host of enemies.

The French are exceedingly fond of moralizing; a few days before the Revolution occurred, whilst a man was driving me through the Place de la Concorde, I observed a scaffolding in the middle, and asked what it was for, and having informed me that it was for the purpose of erecting a statue of Louis the Sixteenth, being the spot in which he was beheaded, he exclaimed, "What an absurdity! but those Bourbons are incorrigible; would it not be much better to let such events as those sink as much as possible into oblivion, instead of endeavouring to perpetuate them. One would have thought," continued he, "that the adversity and exile which that besotted family had endured would have operated upon them as a lesson, but they will never benefit from any lessons; one, however, will be tried upon them very soon, if they do not mind what they are about, and we shall see what impression that will make." The man's words came to pass, they did indeed receive a severe lesson, which involved them in ruin and disgrace.

Having observed a number of persons assembled on the Boulevards, I asked the cause, and was told that some cavalry was expected to pass in a few minutes, for which the people were waiting. I took my station amongst them, which happened to be next to two bakers' boys, who were in earnest conversation, when I was edified by the following observations. "Do you know why Alphonse left his place?" "Yes," replied the other, "because his master gave him a cuff on the head." "That certainly was a very great indignity;" observed the younger; "to receive a blow is very humiliating." "That is true," replied the other, "but figure to yourself the folly of a lad, for the sake of a paltry thump, to sacrifice all his future prospects; in a few years, had he put up with the insult, he might have been head man in a bakehouse in the Rue St. Denis, which is one of the most populous quarters in Paris." "True," said the younger, "it would have been wiser to have sayed; but when excited, reason does not always come to one's aid."

I have translated the discourse as literally as I could, that I might preserve as nearly as possible the expressions which the boys used, as it has often struck me how much more refined they are, than those to which lads of the same age and class would have had recourse in England.

Some of the scenes at the tribunals are very amusing; I remember a very rough ferocious-looking man having been brought up for returning to Paris, from which he had been sent away on account of some offences which he had committed, and was ordered to some small obscure town in the provinces, under surveillance. Finding his banishment very irksome, an irresistible impulse brought him back to Paris, and repairing to his old haunts, he sought the Rue de la Mortellerie, which had in part been pulled down, on account of some improvements which were going forward; whilst he was gaping about, looking in vain for his dear Rue de la Mortellerie, he was recognised by a Serjeant of police and very unwillingly lodged in the Corps de Garde (guard-house), and brought before the Tribunal of Correction; he was interrogated as to his having dared, in defiance of the law, to return to Paris. He replied, "indeed, Monsieur le President, I was so overcome with ennui, that I found it impossible to exist there any longer; now, only imagine for an instant, M. le President, the idea of a Parisian, as I am, to be sent to a little bit of a place where there was no theatre, no promenade, not even a public monument."

He was interrupted by the President telling him, that whatever the place might have been, there he should have staid to the end of his time, and must be punished for returning to Paris. "But," continued the delinquent, "the vile little hole to which I was exiled contained no society whatever, the inhabitants were merely a set of illiterate beings, and how could any enlightened person vegetate amongst such a mic-mac of semi-barbarians; but tell me, M. le President, what has become of the Rue de la Mortellerie?"

Without deigning to answer, the President was proceeding to condemn the prisoner, when interrupted by his exclaiming, "Now I intreat, M. le President, that you who are no doubt a very enlightened personage, would only place yourself in my position, and conceive how it was possible to exist buried alive as it were among such a set of Goths, and above all do tell me what has become of my Rue de la Mortellerie?"

The President, out of all patience, sentenced him to imprisonment in one of the goals of Paris for three years.

"Well," said the garrulous and incorrigible offender, "I shall have one satisfaction, that of knowing that I am still in Paris, that seat of the arts, that centre of civilisation, and terrestrial paradise; but pray tell me, M. le President, before we part, do tell me what have they done with my dear Rue de la Mortellerie?" Without affording him time to occupy the court any longer with his irrelevant questions and explanations, they hurried him away, whilst he continued to murmur what could possibly have gone with his dear Rue de la Mortellerie which was no other than a little narrow filthy street which it would be difficult to match in the worst neighbourhoods in London.

I also recollect an instance of the deliberate coolness of a man who was tried and found guilty of the robbery and murder of a farmer; being asked if he knew his accomplice, he observed "As to knowing him, M. le President, that is more than I can say; you must be aware that it is extremely difficult to know a person, you may have seen a person often, and even conversed with him for years, and yet never know him."

"Are you acquainted with him," was the next question.

"As to that," continued the prisoner, "I am a man who has very few acquaintances, being naturally of a reserved character and rather diffident in my nature, I shrink from entering much into society; being of a reflecting habit, I like often to pass my hours alone, having rather an indifferent opinion of human nature."

How long he would have gone on in the same strain, it is impossible to say, when he was imperatively demanded if he knew him by name, by sight, and had talked, or walked, or ate, or drank with him.

"Really you put so many questions to me at once that you tax my memory beyond its means; I never was celebrated for having a very retentive memory, my mother used to say."

The court out of patience again interrupted him, but with all their efforts could never elicit from him a direct answer; but the circumstantial and testimonial evidence being perfectly convincing, he and his accomplice were condemned to death. When he heard the sentence he very coolly asked which would be guillotined first; he was answered that the other would, and that it was to be hoped that the sight of his companion's fate might bring him to some sense of his awful situation. When the time arrived for their execution, he displayed the same imperturbable audacity; as his accomplice was about to suffer, he elbowed the person who was standing next to him, and pointing to his fellow criminal, he smiled and said, "Look, poor wretch, he is afraid, I declare he even trembles." When it came to his turn he mounted the ladder with as cheerful an air as if he was merely going to his breakfast, and to the last moment preserved the same sang-froid.

A brutal sort of fellow, who was once condemned for an assault, in an instant snatched off his wooden shoes and threw them at the head of the President, who it appears had a good eye for avoiding a shot, and managed to escape the missiles.

Sometimes the avocats (barristers) avail themselves of causes in which they are engaged, so as to render them vehicles for displaying their wit or humour, and afford much amusement to the court; a case some time since occurred which excited much interest and some mirth and entertainment; the parties concerned were a Madame Dumoulin who had invented stays of a peculiar nature. Another person who was English styling herself the inventor, and making them in the same manner, notwithstanding the former had been granted a patent, an action was the consequence. It was observed that the hostile parties in this instance, although French and English, were neither decked with helmets nor armed with pistols, swords, nor muskets, but entered the scene of combat in long shawls and velvet bonnets, announcing themselves without the aid of heralds, the one representing the French army the other the English host. The champion on the side of the former being a Monsieur Ch. Ledru, against whom Monsieur Ducluseau entered the lists on the British side of the question; what made it more remarkable, was, that the belligerents resided in the same street, the residence of M. Ducluseau, the advocate for the English defendant, merely separating the mansions of the two combatants.

Victory declared for Madame Dumoulin after many subtle and learned arguments were adduced on both sides, and an English lady, the mother of several daughters, tells me if I have any regard for my fair countrywomen I must recommend to their notice the stays of Madame Dumoulin, truly observing that as the object of my work was to render every possible service to all my readers, certainly the ladies must have a pre-eminent claim, and although there are certain articles of the toilet with which it might be observed man should never meddle, as he could not be any judge of such habiliments as ought only to be worn by the ladies, and a few dandies who are neither one thing nor the other, yet when three scientific societies condescend to award medals to the inventor and patentee of the articles alluded to, I trust I shall be pardoned if with an intention to serve the fair sex I trench upon their privilege in calling their attention to the useful and ornamental corsets, which have caused so much controversy.

These stays are so contrived as to be totally without gussets, and adapt themselves to the form with such perfect facility, that there is not that restraint which, instead of bestowing grace to the female figure, is rather calculated to deform, that, which, if left in a degree to nature, would have displayed both elegance and ease. As an artist accustomed to contemplate the beauty of feature and of form, I have often regretted that common error into which such numbers of females fall, by torturing themselves in tightening the waist to such an unnatural degree, confining the person as it were in a vice, and totally preventing that movement in the person, which is indispensable in giving that elasticity in walking which alone can produce a graceful carriage, devoid of that stiffness which is ever occasioned by too great a restraint. The stays invented by Madame Dumoulin are universally admired as aiding nature, in affording the utmost freedom to the wearer, at the same time that they improve the figure.

These stays, have not only received the approbation of the scientific world by the presentation of three medals, but have also been recommended by several distinguished members of the faculty, who consider they are calculated rather to improve than deteriorate the health of those who wear them. The action which Madame Dumoulin was obliged to bring against her competitor has been of the utmost service to her, not only by the triumph she has received and the confirmation of her patent, but in giving her that vogue that not only the influential Parisian ladies, but Russian, German and Spanish princesses have patronised her ingenuity; her residence is Rue du 29 Juillet, no 5.

In the Courts of Justice in France and particularly in Paris, I have found that both the prisoners and the witnesses have far more self possession than in the tribunals in England; they are not so soon embarrassed by the brow-beating and examination of the counsel, and sometimes give such replies as turn the sting upon their examiners; having like the Irish a sort of tact for repartee, they are not often to be taken aback; the lower classes in Paris are naturally extremely shrewd and penetrating, they recognise a foreigner instantly, before he speaks, as a friend of mine found to his cost, who although an Englishman would anywhere in his own country be set down for a Frenchman from his external appearance. On the Saturday following the three glorious days, he was standing amongst one of the groups near the Hotel-de-Ville, when a man of a very rough appearance with his arms bare and besmeared with proofs that he had been in the strife, turned to him and asked what he thought of the Revolution. My friend, who was in feeling a thorough bred John Bull, neither liking France, the French, nor any of their proceedings, did not think it was exactly the moment to give vent to all his feelings, answered that it was very fine.

"Oh!" said the Frenchman, "you find it very fine, do you, you're a foreigner, what countryman are you?"

"I am an Englishman," was the reply.

"An Englishman! eh!" muttered the Frenchman scanning him with a very scrutinising eye, "and you find our Revolutionary fine, eh! well," added he! "will you come and take a glass of wine with me?"

The invitation was declined on the plea of business.

"Business," repeated the Frenchman, "there can be no business to-day, it is a day of fete;" upon which the Englishman, not seeing any means by which he could well get off of it, said he would be happy to take wine with him and should also have great pleasure in paying for it.

"Pay for it," sternly said the Frenchman, "what do you talk of paying for it, when you are invited, follow me;" the Englishman obeyed, but wished himself well out of the scrape; his conductor took him to one of the lowest sort of wine-houses and they entered a large room where there were above twenty seated, drinking round a table. His new acquaintance introduced him in due form, saying, I have brought you an Englishman who finds our Revolution very fine; there was a degree of order amongst them and they had a president and vice president, but were very much such rough looking fellows as the one who announced him; as a stranger, he was awarded the seat of honour to the right of the president, but had no sooner been seated, than one man addressed him, saying,

"I have been in England, I was a prisoner and very ill treated."

"I am sorry for that," replied the Englishman.

"I was almost starved," added the other.

"That was not the fault of the people or the intention of the government," observed my friend, "but was caused by a few rascally contractors who received a handsome sum for the supply of the prisoners, and to make the greater profit they provided bad articles."

"Well," said another, "I have seen extracts from the English papers and they speak very highly of our revolution, particularly the Times."

They next proceeded to give accounts of the share they had taken in the struggle which had just terminated, and some began to state the number that they killed, all of which was far from edifying to my friend, who sat upon thorns notwithstanding they all drank his health, hitting the glasses together according to the custom of olden time. At several periods he made an effort to go, but they assured him that they could not part with him so soon, called him a bon anglais, now and then giving him a smack on the shoulder as a proof of their friendly feeling towards him. The Englishman began at last to wish himself anywhere but where he was, and in that manner they kept him for three hours in durance vile; at last he made a bold push for a retreat, declaring he could not stay a minute longer.

"Then," said his conductor, "I shall see you safe home to your door;" now that was the very thing that my friend did not want, as he was particularly desirous of dropping the acquaintance as soon as possible, therefore did not wish him to know where he lived; so at last he thought of a person with whom he dealt, and said he must go, and see a friend there with whom he had an appointment; and the Frenchman accompanied him to the door, always carrying his drawn sword with him, and when taking leave asked the Englishman when and where he should see him again; my friend answered he was going to England.

"Going to England," repeated the other, "what are you going to England for, if you find our Revolution so very fine, what do you want to go away from it for, not to abuse it to your country people, I hope?"

"Oh no," replied the Englishman, "I am only going to England for a little while, on business, and shall be back soon, and shall have it in my power to tell my countrymen all about the Revolution, and what an heroic struggle it was."

"Ah!" said the Frenchman; then holding out his great rough hand, bade the Englishman "bon soir," and "bon voyage."

My friend declared that it was impossible for him to describe to what a degree he was rejoiced at seeing his new acquaintance depart, although, however rough his appearance, the man might have been perfectly harmless, except when called upon to fight for what he considered his country's cause.

I was myself living in Paris during the struggle of the Three Days, and can bear witness to the humanity and moderation of the people during the contest, and of their forbearance after their victory; they came to the house at which I was living and asked for wine; but they brought with them pails of water into which they threw what was given them, thereby proving their extreme temperance and forbearance, but certainly a band of a more ruffianlike looking set of fellows, it would be difficult to imagine, and the manner in which they were at first armed, had something in it of the horrible, and at the same time of the ludicrous; iron bars, pokers, pitchforks, and in fact anything that could be converted into a weapon was taken possession of by the unwashed horde, who swarmed towards the centre of Paris from the manufacturing suburbs; soon, however, the public armouries, and the gunsmiths' shops, the musquetry, and other arms taken from the soldiers during the battle, contributed to arm them more formidably.

But in justice to the Parisians I must cite two circumstances; the one is, that whatever they seized upon in the public institutions, as instruments of offence and defence, were restored when the contest was over; the librarian at the Royal Library told me that they took all the ancient and modern arms from their establishment, but with the exception of seven they were all brought back, and most likely the bearers of those which were missing had been killed.

The other instance which does high credit to the Parisian mob, is that they would not permit of any robbing or pillage in any house or building which they might enter, but, as might be expected, some of the regular thieves of Paris mixed amongst the people; one at length being caught purloining an image in the palace of the Tuileries, they formed a circle round the thief, tried him in an instant, and shot him; this was summary justice with a vengeance, and certainly not exactly what ought to have been done, but it showed the principle which existed. In fact honesty is undoubtedly a quality existing in France to a most extraordinary degree, a greater proof of it cannot be adduced than the fact that when any person quits a theatre with the idea of returning in a few minutes they leave their handkerchiefs on their seats by way of retaining their places, which custom is even practised at the lowest theatres, where the admittance is only half a franc.

Ingenuity and a tact for invention are certainly features peculiar to the French character, but they are far behind the English in their methods of transacting business; this remark is applicable even to most of the public offices; that France is extremely flourishing, and Paris more particularly so, cannot be denied, but were it in the hands of the English there is no doubt their produce, manufactures, and commerce, both home and foreign, would be considerably greater than it now is. France has been most peculiarly favoured by nature, her soil produces everything that can be grown in England, and besides three commodities which are not genial to our climate, and are of immense value, oil, silk and wine; hence the products of the soil of France amount annually to the immense sum of 240,000,000l., or 6,000,000,000 francs; having such a basis, or one may even say such a capital to work upon, to what an incalculable extent might business be carried on, with the amazing industry that exists in France, as in the first place their population exceeds ours by nearly six millions; then their general temperance is such, there is not so much time nor labour lost as there is in England, consequently there are more hands available, and those generally for a longer period of time, as every one who is familiar with many manufacturing and even agricultural districts in England must be aware that there are numbers of workmen who never appear on the Monday, vulgarly called St. Monday, but spend it at the public houses.

I myself have had farming men whom I hired by the day in Kent, who did not appear until Wednesday morning, but that, however, is some years since, and the evil is now correcting. The great deficiency in France is not only want of great capitalists, but men of enterprise, who are not afraid to enter upon colossal undertakings; and now, looking at the speculative works of the greatest magnitude which exist in France, it will be found that Englishmen are concerned in them, either as partners in a firm, or the principal shareholders in any company or association. The promptness of the English for adventuring their funds in all sorts of schemes is the wonderment of all Europe; whenever there is any discovery which may be rendered available for trade, an Englishman is on the spot with his capital in his hand and his calculation in his head. Recently a vein of coal was found near the coast of Brittany, three Englishmen were there as if they had dropped from the clouds, quite prepared to enter into all the arrangements requisite for working the mine and rendering it productive of profit.

But although the French are deficient in those qualities requisite for commencing and conducting gigantic enterprises, yet they are rapidly improving in every point that is necessary for the management of business and augmenting their foreign commerce to a great extent, particularly with America; from the town of New Orleans alone, last summer, there were eighty merchants in Paris at one time, and the amount from all the United States was estimated at two thousand; in fact if France remain at peace, the increase of her prosperity in every branch of industry must be certain, as if she obtain English machinery, which she must ultimately, with those who know how to set it in motion also, as provisions are cheaper, and always will be than with us, because she needs not so much taxation, her debt being so much smaller than that of England, labour must be lower, therefore she will have an advantage over us which it will be impossible for England, with all her talents, to circumvent. Already the Americans purchase, not only silks and fancy articles in France, but also even cotton goods of the superior qualities; the only obstacle which prevents the French from making still more rapid advancement than is at present the case, is first timidity of capitalists, deficiency of knowledge of the higher order of business, and extreme slowness in proceeding with any grand national operation, as for instance, her railroads, in which she has not only seen England surpass her tenfold, but other neighbouring countries; but as there is a sort of system of centralization in favour of the metropolis, Paris improves more rapidly in proportion than the rest of France.



CHAPTER VI.

The monuments of Paris, the gardens, promenades, markets, libraries, etc.

In order to facilitate the progress of the reader in viewing the monuments and different objects of interest in Paris, I shall classify them within certain limits, so that they may be viewed in the shortest possible time, stating those which are contiguous to each other, so that a greater number may be visited in a day, than if the traveller went from one distant quarter of Paris to the other promiscuously, as he happened to hear of any building or monument he wished to see, and thus have to return perhaps two or three times to the same neighbourhood instead of finishing with one district first, then taking the others in rotation; as I shall suppose that some of my readers can only afford ten days or a fortnight to view Paris, I shall be as chary of their time as possible; having been accustomed to show the lions to many different friends or acquaintances from England, I trust I am tolerably au fait at that operation. I shall begin with that part of Paris denominated La Cite, because it is the most central and the most ancient; we will therefore proceed to it by the Pont-Neuf, which as I have already stated was built by Henry III about 1580. There are several shops upon it contained within small stone buildings, which, when viewing the bridge at a short distance, have rather a picturesque effect; it is ornamented with a number of heads according to the taste of that day, and which now give it rather an antique appearance. When well upon the bridge which rises as it approaches the centre, I would advise the spectator to look around him, as the view well repays the trouble, the quays having a most noble appearance, adorned by the Louvre, the Tuileries, the Institute, and other public buildings.

Now let us look about us at more immediate objects; what a noisy bustling scene it is at present, and has been for centuries past, as in the reign of Henry IV it is described as absolutely stunning; now you are assailed by the hissing of fried potatoes, fish, and fritters, which are bought up as fast as they are supplied, women and men are seated with their little apparatus for shearing cats and dogs, and clipping their tails and ears if required, which is a calling that appears to be followed by numbers in Paris who all seem to take their stations on the bridges; situated amongst them are several shoeblacks, who appear to take their posts in uniform array with the trimmers of cats and dogs; they operate upon your boots and shoes as you stand, therefore if you wish to patronise them you may take that opportunity of looking about and getting disburthened of some of the Paris mud, quite certain if it be wet weather that you will soon get more. Fruit in all its variety, books, prints, blacking, and nick-knacks of every description offer themselves to your notice. But let us direct our attention to a more interesting object; the fine bronze equestrian statue of Henry IV: one could almost think the good and merry monarch was going to utter some of his witty sallies. Now let us turn round and behold those antique looking houses which face us and were built in his reign, at a distance they have a sort of castellated appearance: before we quit the bridge let us look down on the Baths Vigier with their pretty garden; we will enter the place Dauphine, and then take one look at the bust of Desaix, the victim of the battle of Marengo, and next we will turn on to the Quai de l'Horloge and view the north side of the Palais de Justice; it presents two round towers, which have the appearance of being very old, and I was assured by an architect who employed much of his time in poking about after such morsels of antiquity as he could find, that they were built by the Romans, but I doubt it.

We must not miss the Tour de l'Horloge, which is certainly of the middle ages, and the clock is I believe considered the oldest in Paris; turning to the right we view the grand front of the Palais de Justice, a very handsome iron grating in part gilded, decorates the entrance to the front court, and you ascend a bold flight of steps to the principal door; four doric pillars with figures representing Justice, Fortitude, Plenty, and Prudence, adorn the grand facade of the building; an immense hall to the right, in which is a noble statue of the good and venerable Malesherbes, well worth attention, and is the apartment where formerly ambassadors were received and the nuptial ceremonies of princes were celebrated, but now the rendez-vous of lawyers, barristers, and their clients.

Several other halls, chambers, galleries, corridors, etc, are worth notice, and that which is beneath them, has a shuddering kind of interest; it is called the Conciergerie, and if its victims were there consigned by the harsh decree of rigid justice, surely mercy and charity were not allowed to enter, whilst it formed the prison of the hapless Marie Antoinette and the brave Pichegru, but we will draw a veil over those scenes which are but fraught with sad reminiscences. Many of these dark covered alleys, belonging to this extraordinary building, have been long occupied by venders of shoes, slippers and a variety of articles which remind one of the old Exeter Change.

This singular edifice which almost resembles a town is considered to have been founded by Eudes, count of Paris, about the year 890, but the most ancient part now standing, was built by Saint Louis who founded the chapel, which is considered to be a complete type of the pure gothic architecture, and which in that respect is not exceeded by any other in Europe; it has the most decided air of antiquity, with a richness and elegance which certainly characterise it as the beau ideal of that period. It is termed the Holy Chapel and now appropriated to the conservation of ancient records. From this interesting monument we turn with regret, but a new scene bursts upon us; it is the flower market, which is held under trees and furnished with large bassins constantly supplied with water; the numerous display of flowers mostly in pots done up in such a manner with white paper so that it forms the background, gives much light and life to the colours, buds, and blossoms, which bloom on this enlivening spot. Wednesdays and Saturdays are the market days, and I recommend the reader not to miss so pleasing a spectacle. On the Quai du Marche-Neuf, on the southern bank of the island, a very opposite sight may be seen, being the Morgue, a little building for receiving all dead bodies found, and not owned.

We now proceed to Notre-Dame, which is in the form of a cross; it was began about the year 1150, in the reign of Louis the Seventh, but continued in that of Philippe-Auguste, and completed under Saint-Louis in 1257, which date, as I have already stated, it now distinctly bears. Its magnitude and extent surpasses every other church in Paris, it is in the arabic style, and being now totally detached from any other building has a most grand effect; it is only in the present reign that this great improvement has been effected, as it was formerly joined on one side to the archiepiscopal palace. The immense number of grotesque figures which surround and surmount the doorway, give it a most rich appearance, although they are in the rudest style of barbarism; above is a large window called the rose, which is a most beautiful and curious object. The interior at the first view has a most striking effect; one hundred and twenty pillars supporting a range of arches afford a most splendid coup d'oeil, the middle aisle presenting an uninterrupted view of the whole church, which being very lofty has a most majestic appearance; the sumptuous altar, the fine gloom pervading the pictures, the curious Gobelin tapestry which decorate the sides, combine in affording a rich effect which is still heightened by the chapels which are perceptible between the columns. Although it might be urged that there is rather a profusion of decoration with the bas-reliefs, and other ornaments, yet the edifice is on so colossal a scale that it still presents so broad a mass, that a tone of simplicity pervades the whole. The beautiful choir is after a design by De Goste, the altar and sanctuary are of marble and porphyry, whilst tesselated pavements and variegated shrines adorn the numerous chapels. The pictures are good in general; as to the tapestry, I think it had better be removed, which I dare say it will be as taste refines. It is to be regretted that the towers of Notre-Dame have so heavy and black appearance, which is increased by a parcel of dark unseemly shutters. On the outside towards the north, there are some pieces of sculpture well worth examination; they are beautifully executed although much deteriorated by time, and appear to be works of about the thirteenth century. There are some curious brasses which would be very interesting to persons capable of decyphering them, one in particular to the left on entering, but so much in the dark that it is difficult to make it out, especially as the characters at best are not easy to understand, but I recommend them to the inspection of those persons who have time and inclination to study such subjects. The view of the city from the towers affords an ample panorama, and displays the positions of the principal monuments.

The Hotel Dieu is one of the finest establishments of the kind in Europe, it is an hospital for the sick, in which they can make up 1,500 beds, but there is nothing in its external appearance that is very striking. The Archiepiscopal Palace had not a very attractive exterior, but now, as they are partly demolishing and rebuilding it all, remarks must be suspended until it be finished. No other object presents itself particularly worth notice on this island, once the celebrated Lutetia, but many of the houses have a very old appearance, and are some of them probably of three or four hundred years standing; the curious observer inspecting them will here and there find indications of the middle ages. If the reader like to pass over to the Isle St. Louis, it will but take him a few minutes, which is about as much as it is worth; the only object exciting attention is the Hotel Chamisot, No. 45, Rue St. Louis, and the church of St. Louis, built in 1664. In this edifice there are some pictures worthy remark and a curious spire. The Hotel Lambert, No. 2, Rue St. Louis, also merits attention, being most richly adorned with paintings, gilded mouldings, frescos, etc. Voltaire lived in it, and Napoleon had a long conversation in the gallery in 1815 with his minister, Montalivet, when he found all was lost.

I shall now conduct my reader from the little Isle St. Louis by the Pont de Tournelle to the Quay de Tournelle, from which we proceed to that of St. Bernard, where every one must be struck with the Halles aux Vins, or Wine Halls; they are all arranged with extreme regularity, and forming altogether a whole, have a most singular effect; the neatness of the appearance is remarkable; and the extent is such that they might contain sufficient inhabitants to people a small town. As we proceed along the quay, we have a good view of the Pont d'Austerlitz, it is quite flat, built of iron, and is extremely light and handsome.

Upon our right is the great attraction, so interesting to all nations, the Garden of Plants; the first view of it through the iron railing is most striking, rows of sable looking trees, forming a fine contrast to the broad expansive beds of flowers, their gay colours blooming forth so thickly as to resemble at some distance the brightest and richest carpet; broad walks are between these brilliant masses; at the end of which is the building which contains the Museum of natural History; to give the reader anything like an accurate idea of this establishment, it is necessary to exercise one's ability in condensing to the utmost degree, as to furnish a comprehensive analysis of the wonders of this institution would require a folio volume. I knew an English couple who took lodgings in the immediate neighbourhood for three months that they might go every day and study the numberless interesting objects this establishment contains. The long promenades are formed by picturesque trees and shrubs which have been collected from every clime; the immense number of labels, as one approaches more closely, rather disfigure the display of flowers, but as usefulness is the object, it is impossible otherwise than to approve the extreme order and regularity with which every plant, according to its genus, is classified, affording a most delectable treat to a regular botanist. This arrangement has been effected under the superintendence of Monsieur du Jussieu himself, no doubt one of the most scientific botanists thatever has appeared; his residence and that of his family was in the gardens, when I was in Paris twenty years back, and I believe some of them still are concerned in the botanical arrangements of the institution.

The tremendous vocabulary of long latin names inscribed on the labels is really enough to appal the most retentive memory that ever existed, and to a person who has never dipped at all into the mysteries of botany I can imagine the terms are rather alarming, words with nineteen letters in them are but trifles compared to others, and a regular John Bull who was scanning them very justly remarked, pointing to the flowers, that it was certainly a favoured spot of Flora, and then alluding to the fruits observed the same of Pomona, but added, he should like very much to know who was the goddess of hard words as he would recommend her to descend upon the same beds, as she would there find a more numerous progeny than either of her rival goddesses. I believe that there are now nearly 10,000 plants arranged according to the system of De Jussieu, in the most simple and perfect manner, so that the student is enabled at once to comprehend the plan, and numbers of both sexes attend even as early as six in the morning copying the names of plants and studying their classification. Although this establishment is called the Garden of Plants, it has many other objects of the highest interest besides what its name indicates. It is at the same time a most extensive menagerie, which first gave the idea that has since been adopted of the Zoological Gardens in Regent's Park; formerly the arrangement exceedingly interested and delighted the English visiter, but now that he has the same thing at home, it has ceased to be a novelty. Each animal having plenty of room to walk about in, was certainly a beautiful thought, and great improvement on confining them in cages, which is now only found necessary with ferocious animals. The bears form a great source of amusement to the people, they are in large square pits about ten or twelve feet below the level of the promenades, and each has a large pole in the middle, with several branches upon which they climb, whilst the visiters throwing bread to them are exceedingly diverted at their successful or unsuccessful attempts to catch it. It would be superfluous to enter upon a description of the great variety of animals assembled in this collection, suffice it to say that I believe there is no living animal who can exist in a Parisian climate, that is not to be found in this garden; generally there are several of a kind, and in case one dies it is immediately replaced by another. The monkeys are the principal objects of attraction, and as soon as they are let out into their little paddock in front of their dwellings, which is only when the day is considered sufficiently warm, crowds of people assemble to witness their grimaces and gambols; they and the bears may be considered as the principal dramatis personae of the menagerie, and who certainly perform their parts most admirably, never failing to afford the utmost entertainment to the audience: and it is indeed a sort of rivalry between Jocko and Bruin which should play their role the best; for my own part I really think I give the preference to the latter, there is something at once so comic and so good natured-looking in the bears, that I feel almost inclined to descend into their pits and caress and pet them as I would a favourite dog, but am only deterred by fearing they would give me a reception rather too warm, and their friendly hug be too overpowering for me to sustain.