all their importunities, and passed on through the _Champs Elysées_, or
a dusty road through a grove, intersected with ill-formed paths, with a
few gaudy cafés bearing pompous inscriptions--for Voltaire has made the
French too fond of nomenclature to say with our Shakspeare, "what's in a
name?" The road presented a strange specimen of the insubordination of
French driving, notwithstanding police superintendants affected much
concern in the matter. Diligences, fiacres, and carriages resembling
large, covered cabriolets, might be seen loaded with gaily-dressed women
and children, with a due proportion of young Parisians, all just in the
hey-day of mirth, drawn by dust-provoking Flanders horses, their drivers
slashing almost indiscriminately, and, with their clamour and confusion,
far exceeding the Epsom road on a raceday.

At length, escaping from the dust and din of the French Elysium, I
halted to enjoy the distant view of the city of Paris, from the gate of
the barrier. It was indeed an interesting scene. Through the avenue,
whose area presented a living stream of traffic, might be seen the
terraces and groves of the Tuilleries, and the spacious and irregular
palace, with its cupola tops; the tarnished dome of the Invalides; the
cupola of St. Genevieve; the gray towers of Nôtre Dame; then the winding
Seine, with its bridges, quays, and terraces, flanked with the long line
of the Tuilleries, and the Luxembourg, and Louvre galleries, on the one
side; and on the other by the noble façade of the Chamber of Deputies;
the courtly mansions of St. Germain, and the blackened front and dome of
the Institute. What a multitude of associations flitted across the
memory, by a single glance at PARIS--the capital of that gay,
light-hearted, and mercurial people--the French nation--the focus of
European luxury, and the grand political arena of modern history, the
very calendar of whose events, within the last half century, will form
one of the most interesting episodes that ever glowed among the records