The weather of Paris during the summer months is warm and usually
delightful, but in winter it is very cold--much colder than it is in
London. But Paris escapes the horrible fogs which envelop London in
November and December. The weather, too, though cold, is wholesome and
often conducive to health. The two months of fog in London are often
termed the suicidal months, because of the number of persons who destroy
their own lives in those months. The people of Paris with their
mercurial temperaments would never endure it for a long time, at least.

Fuel is exceedingly dear in Paris, and the buildings are not made for
in-door comfort. If they were as warmly made as the houses of New York,
they would be comfortable in winter, but such not being the case, and
fuel being costly, comfort in private apartments is rarely to be had by
any but the rich. Coal is not used to any great extent, though charcoal
is burned in small quantities, but wood is the fuel principally used. It
is sold in small packages, and is principally brought up from the
distant provinces by the canals. The amount of wood required to make
what a Frenchman would call a glowing fire, would astonish an American.
A half a dozen sticks, not much larger or longer than his fingers, laid
crosswise in a little hearth, is sufficient for a man's chamber. A log
which one of our western farmers would think nothing of consuming in a
winter's evening, would bring quite a handsome sum in Paris on any
winter day. The truth is, the economical traveler had better not spend
his winter in Paris, for comfort at that time costs money. The houses
admit such volumes of cold air, the windows are so loose and the doors
such wretched contrivances, and that, too, in the best of French cities,
that the stranger sighs for the comforts of home. Nowhere in the world
is so much taste displayed as in Paris, in the furnishing of apartments.
This is known as far as Paris is, but it is always the _outside
appearance_ which is attended to, and nothing more. It is like the
Parisian dandy who wears a fine coat, hat, and false bosom, but has no
shirt. The homes of Paris are got up, many of them at least, upon this
principle. The rooms are elegantly furnished, and in pleasant weather
are indeed very pleasant to abide in, but let a cold day come, and they
are as uncomfortable as can be, and the ten thousand conveniences which
a New York or London household would think it impossible to be without,
ar