fail of contrasting the gas-lighted streets of the English cities, with the streets of the French metropolis, dimly lighted by lamps. The lanterns are here suspended over the middle of the streets by cords, awkwardly stretched across from the wall of the second story of the house upon one side of the way, to that of the house upon the opposite side, where the cord passes over a pulley, and terminates within the reach of the lamplighter, who stands on the pavement, and hoists the lamp to its elevated situation, after he has lighted it. It may be understood from the description of the arrangement of this tackle, that these lantern cords offered great facilities to the mobs during the Revolution, to enable them to hang speedily obnoxious individuals who fell into their hands.

up

A FRENCH HOTEL.

Before going out in the morning, we took a survey of our lodgings in the Hotel de Montmorenci, which was the residence of one of the branches of the noble family of that name, before the Revolution. During that distracted period, it was confiscated, and sold at a trifling price, the uncertainty of maintaining the title to it with the warranty of republican France deterring purchasers from coming forward. As the result proved, the title has remained undisturbed, and for a small sum the purchasers, one of whom was an American, became proprietors of a palace. This building is similar to most of the best houses of the city, and from a view of it one may comprehend, not only the general plan on which French houses are constructed, but also the manner in which they are occupied by the inhabitants.

There are no flights of steps, ornamented with iron rails, pillars, and porticos, leading from the street to the front doors of the houses, as is commonly seen in the

HOTELS AND HOUSES OF PARIS.

35

United States and in England. The dark walls of long ranges of buildings present tiers of windows, sometimes to the height of five or six stories, with scarcely a door way, except that of the shops, in sight. At short distances are arched passage-ways, closed by gates, studded with the broad iron heads of nails. They are turned heavily and sullenly on their grating hinges to admit carriages. A smaller door, cut in the great gate, and forming a section of it, admits the occupants when on foot. The lower windows next the street are usually secured by strong iron bars or grates. Every precaution is taken in the construction of the houses to render them secure against sudden attacks, like castles capable of withstanding any unex pected assault of mobs in the disorderly times of a revolution. Instead of the ornamented architectural front, openly and honestly displayed toward the street, as usually observable in the construction of private houses in England and in the United States, the tall crowded buildings of Paris are masked in front by this heavy wall of uninviting appearance. The visitant enters beneath the arch formed in the front wall of the building, and secured by massy gates, as before described. Continuing his course onwards, he emerges to the glare of sunshine in an open court yard, flanked by the wings of the edifice. The arched passage serves for the common way of entrance to the numerous inhabitants, who occupy the wings of the interior courts; and also for the exit of the filthy waste water of the drains, which here unite their turbid streams. The gates are kept securely bolted during the evening, and sometimes during the day, when they are opened by the porter on the application of the sonorous knocker.

The office of a porter becomes, under this system of management, a distinct branch of household duty, and is commonly performed by a female,* who occupies her time

* The men who attend these gates as porters are often termed in French

36

HOTELS AND HOUSES

usefully with her needle, whilst seated in the little lodge in a recess of the arched passageway. By means of connected wires, arranged like those for house bells, she draws the bolt without rising from her seat. Around her are suspended on pins the keys of the various lodgers or occupants, who deposite them here for safe keeping when they go out.

After entering the gate, and passing through the dark passageway, you find yourself in the midst of shrubs and flowers, arranged around a yard, and the tall branches of shady trees rise aloft, partly concealing with leaves the wings of the buildings, which inclose a sort of hollow square. All the expense in the usual architectural ornaments of hewn stone walls, are bestowed in embellishing these interior fronts, which are not visible from the street, except perhaps in glimpses through the open gateway. It is a delightful transition from the narrow, dirty, public thoroughfares, to these retired little courts, thus ornamented and rendered refreshing by pots of flowers and verdant foliage. So little attention appears to be bestowed upon the architecture of the fronts of the houses facing the public streets, that some of the most elegant houses in Paris, or hotels, as they are called, occupied by foreign ambassadors, have the rooms adjoining the street actually used in some cases as stables; and the hay I have noticed protruding through the broken window panes. The extent of the back wings affords accommodations to numerous tenants who occupy one house. To accommodate the several families, a flight of great stone steps "Suisses;" probably from the circumstance that the natives of Switzerland once were very generally employed in this trusty capacity in the city of Paris. Frenchmen who occupy this station are still called Swiss, and owing to mistakes, which originated from this cause, many French porters were actually killed by the mobs during the stormy period of the Revolution, when the regiments of Swiss guards were massacred, and every individual of that nation was hunted out and devoted to destruction.

serves as a common highway from one story to another of these lofty and extensive buildings. The occupants of the different wings and floors are frequently strangers to each other, scarcely recognizing each other more familiarly from occasionally meeting in these common passage-ways, than in the adjacent streets.* It was not until after a residence of a week, that we discovered that two of the inmates of the hotel were our countrymen. There is no common table or room, where strangers may meet and have an opportunity of becoming acquainted with each other.

Americans who visit Paris usually take a bedroom and parlor, or simply a lodging room. The breakfast is the only meal taken at the lodgings. The other meals are obtained at one of the eight or nine hundred coffee houses which are licensed in this city.

The surface of the white stones, and also of the plaster or stucco of the walls of the houses, becomes softened and crumbled from long exposure to the weather.

A coat of dark mould and dust adheres to it. The lofty houses of Paris have on this account a dirty or dusky exterior, which renders them far less neat and clean than the freshly painted walls of the dwelling-houses in the large cities of the United States.

STREETS OF PARIS.

A shower of rain having fallen during the morning, the gutters became immediately filled with torrents of water,

* Like the streets, this stair-way, as was observed to me by a person long domesticated in the city, requires often the labors of a scavenger to clear away the accumulated dirt, which not one good housewife thinks it her particular duty to remove, and the responsibility, being divided among so many occupants, ceases to call forth the exercise of the broom from any one of them.

38

MUDDY STREETS.

which after the return of sunshine continued to flow in creeping muddy currents, too wide to be stepped over.No crossing places or side-walks being laid for the convenience of the pedestrian, he must fearlessly dash through the turbid waters, or wait until they run by. The ladies, at least those who condescend to appear on foot at such times, very naturally take great care to prevent soiling their dresses, by raising the skirts of their drapery—a custom not unfrequent even on the dry smooth walks of the Boulevards, particularly when a pretty little foot or a well turned ankle is to be thus unveiled to full view. Even the bright colored zone, that clasps and sustains by its elastic embrace the glossy hosiery, is in this way unparsimoniously displayed. An American in Paris has speedily an opportunity of discovering the clue to the otherwise mysterious decorations bestowed upon the silken embroidery of a Parisian garter, by ascertaining that it is made to be seen, as a showy part of the female attire.

POLICE OFFICE.

It becomes the duty of housekeepers in Paris to give immediate notice at the police office of the arrival of strangers beneath their roof. At the general Police Office, accordingly, we reported ourselves, and received the passports which had been taken from us on landing at Calais. At this office we entered an extensive hall, in which a considerable number of persons were arranged on benches, awaiting their turns to have their passports examined and endorsed by the proper officer. Some of the persons present, who in the transaction of business necessarily travelled frequently, presented little books annexed to their original passports, the endorsements in which had become swelled to a small volume, giving a history of the dates of their peregrinations, with seals of office, signatures and