After dinner we adjourned to a cafè in the garden, and indulged in a cup of coffee, which, in Paris, is really a delicious drink. I dare say my friends thought me enthusiastic in my love of French coffee, but as a proof of its excellence, it must be borne in mind that this beverage is to Frenchmen, what tea and gin are to our washerwomen, what the bottle of port is to the English squire; or the "dhrop of whisky" is to the Irishman. We never drink healths in tea, but the French often pledge each other in a cup of coffee, of course with a little cognac in it. This Palais Royal, in the front portion of which resides Prince Napoleon, is in the form of a parallelogram. The garden in it is two hundred and thirty yards long, by one hundred yards broad, and consists of flower beds down the centre, with three rows of elms, and limes, down each side, affording a most agreeable shade in the hot summer weather, and are frequented by many thousands daily. We strolled round, and admired the numerous magnificent shops which ostentatiously displayed shawls and silks, gold and silver, crystals and precious stones; a sight of itself almost sufficient to attract a stranger to Paris. We now made our way to the Champs Elysées, which have their name from the imaginary paradise of the Greeks. It is indeed a kind of paradise; such, as I should suppose is found nowhere else. Nothing could present a more lively scene than was presented here on this fine summer's evening. At each side of the grand avenue-along which a perpetual stream of carriages is pouring are splendid avenues of trees; and at each side of these are places of public amusement, shows, etc., usual at fairs. Numerous elegant coffee houses are sprinkled here and there. Seats are placed under the shade of the trees, and along the alleys, as well as several graceful fountains. The 1855 Exhibition building stands about half-way up on the left hand side. A row of cast-iron lamp posts extends the entire length, from the Place de la Concorde to the Triumphal Arch, a distance of a mile and a half. Hundreds of lights were dispersed amongst the trees, and in front of the cafès, &c. During the time we were taking this walk the whole was lighted up, and the effect was very beautiful. We turned for a short time into what is termed a cafe chantant or out door concert. We sat in the open air, breathing the most genial atmosphere I ever felt, drinking the light wine, which, like our cup of Howqua's mixture, cheers but not inebriates, at our ease, admiring the grounds, resplendent with flowers and brilliant with jets of fire, and all the time listening to a melody of pleasing sounds. But as our intention was to see the celebrated Jardin Mabille, we left about nine o'clock, and went to that popular place of amusement. It is generally understood when one goes abroad, to see foreign places, people and customs, it is desirable to go to both the ordinary and extraordinary places of resort. Hence a visit to these gardens is necessary. Mrs. Harriet B. Stowe the authoress of Uncle Tom's Cabin, has given a description of these gardens as they appeared on her visit, and which will equally apply to ours. She says:- Weston and I slipped out and drove to the Jardin Mabille, a garden in the Champs Elysées, whither thousands go every night. We entered by an avenue of poplars and other trees and shrubs, so illuminated by jets of gas sprinkled amongst the foliage It was neither as to give it the effect of enchantment. moonlight nor daylight, but a kind of spectral aurora, that made every thing seem unearthly. As we entered the garden, we found flower beds laid out in circles, squares, lozenges, and every conceivable form, with diminutive jets of gas so distributed as to imitate flowers of the softest tints, and the most perfect shape. This too, seemed unearthly, weird. We seemed in an instant, transported into some Thalaba's cave, infinitely beyond the common sights and sounds of every day life. In the centre of these grounds there is a circle of pillars, on the top of each of which is a pot of flowers, with gas jets, and between them an arch of gas gets. This circle is very large. In the midst of it is another circle, forming a pavilion for musicians, also brilliantly illuminated, and containing a large cotillon band of the most finished performers. Around this you find thousands of gentlemen and ladies strolling singly, in pairs, or in groups. There could not be less than three thousand persons present. While the musicians repose, they loiter, sauntering round, or recline on seats. But now a lively waltz strikes the ear. In an instant twenty or thirty couples are whirling along, floating like thistles in the wind, around the central pavilion. Their feet scarce touch the smooth-trodden earth. Round and round, in a vortex of life, beauty, and brilliancy they go, a whirlwind of delight. Eyes sparkling, cheeks flushing, and gauzy draperies floating by; while the crowds outside gather in a ring, and watch the giddy revel. There are countless forms of symmetry and grace, faces of wondrous beauty, both among the dancers and among the spectators. It is a scene perfectly unearthly, or rather perfectly Parisian, and just as earthly as possible; yet a scene where earthliness is worked up into a style of sublimation the most exquisite conceivable. It is a place so remarkable that very few strangers stay long in Paris without a look at it. And though young ladies residing in Paris never go, and matrons very seldom, yet occasionly it is the case that some ladies of respectability look in. The best dancers, those who exhibit such surprising feats of agility, are professional-paid by the establishment. Nevertheless, aside from the impropriety inherent in the very nature of waltzing, there was not a word, look, or gesture of immorality or impropriety. The dresses were all decent; and if there was vice, it was vice masked under the guise of polite propriety." We left this place about eleven o'clock; reached our lodgings, and climbing to "our garret near the sky," my intention was to have a signally failed. night's rest, but in this I CHAPTER III. "In a compagnie Of sondry folke, by adventure yfalle, "The traveller into a foreign country knows more by the eye Friday morning.-Waking about one o'clock, I found it too hot, and concluded the window of my bed-room must be opened, but to effect this was no easy task. It was a French window of course, opening down the centre. With difficulty I at last succeeded, and throwing it wide open, returned to bed, but about three o'clock I found myself wide awake, completely, suddenly, and unaccountably. Some one has said, that, "the human mind at this time is not itself," but be that as it may, I found that the senses were in full play; the organ of hearing was acted upon by a chorus of voices far from musical, and the sense of smell was regaled with scents that Rimmel knows not of. On looking out of the window I found the noise proceeded from half-a-dozen night soil men, following their nocturnal avocations, and the smell came from cooking that was being carried on at that early hour in rooms below my own. I closed the window and lay awake till it was quite daylight, when I again opened it, and made a more minute survey of the neighbourhood. I observed that the room I occupied overlooked a square, surrounded by buildings, seven stories in height, and I could see that each storey had its seperate tenant, and that there did not seem much of domestic comfort in them. But, |