d understand GRAHAME[13] as well as they do THOMSON,
they will peradventure lend a ready and helping hand towards the completion
of this laudable plan. At present, there is much which hurts the eye and
ear of a well-educated and well-principled Englishman. There is a partial
shutting up of the shops before twelve; but after mid-day the shop-windows
are uniformly closed throughout Paris. Meanwhile the cart, the cabriolet,
the crier of herbs and of other marketable produce--the sound of the whip
or of the carpenter's saw and hammer--the shelling of peas in the open air,
and the plentiful strewing of the pod hard by--together with sundry, other
offensive and littering accompaniments--all strike you as disagreeable
deviations from what you have been accustomed to witness at home. Add to
this, the half-dirty attire--the unshaven beard of the men, and the unkempt
locks of the women--produce further revolting sensations. It is not till
past mid-day that the noise of labour ceases, and that the toilette is put
into a complete state for the captivation of the beholder. By four or five
o'clock the streets become half thinned. On a Sunday, every body rushes
into the country. The tradesman has his little villa, and the gentleman and
man of fortune his more capacious rural domain; and those, who aspire
neither to the one or the other, resort to the _Bois de Boulogne_ and the
_Champs Elysees_, or to the gardens of _Beaujon_, and _Tivoli_--or to the
yet more attractive magnificence of the palace and fountains of
_Versailles_--where, in one or the other of these places, they carouse, or
disport themselves--in promenades, or dancing groups--till

... Majores.. cadunt de montibus umbrae.

This, generally and fairly speaking, is a summer Sabbath in the metropolis
of France.

Unconscionable as you may have deemed the length of this epistle, I must
nevertheless extend it by the mention of what I conceive to be a very
essential feature both of beauty and utility in the street scenery of
Paris. It is of the FOUNTAINS that I am now about to speak; and of some of
which a slight mention has been already made. I yet adhere to the
preference given to that in the _Palais Royal_; considered with reference
to the management of the water. It is indeed a purely aqueous exhibition,
in which architecture and sculpture have nothing to do. Not so are the more
imposing fountains of the MARCHE DES INNOCENS, DE GRENELLE, and the
BOULEVARD BONDY. For the f