surface, usually wet and slippery, so that under the most favourable
circumstances, walking in the streets of Paris is anything but an
agreeable exercise. Still farther to abridge the level space, the
street is made to incline from both sides towards the centre, in order
to form there a sort of ditch, in which flows a black and fetid
stream. From the want of a proper system of drains, this receptacle of
filth is generally sufficiently replenished even in the driest
weather, to keep the whole street wet and dirty. Carriages, having
usually one wheel in the midst of the kennel, dash about the offensive
puddle in all directions. But the principle of a clear middle way,
such as our English streets possess, is neglected in all the
arrangements connected with those of Paris. Even the lights, instead
of being fixed on posts, as ours are, at the sides, are suspended in
the middle on ropes swung across, and having their opposite ends
fastened to the walls of the houses. It was these ropes which the mob,
in the Revolution of 1789, were wont to make use of as halters for
their victims; whence their famous cry of _á la lanterne_, as they
dragged them along to execution.

The aspect of Paris by night, except in a few of the principal streets
where gas has been very partially introduced, is singularly gloomy.
The darkness is occasionally relieved by the brilliancy of a café; but
in the more quiet parts of the town, particularly in the fashionable
quarter of the Faubourg St. Germain, it is almost impossible for the
pedestrian to direct his steps aright. It is quite evident that the
arrangements of this capital have not been made for a walking people.
This evil, however, is fast disappearing. Numerous _passages_ have
been constructed, within the last ten years, which are paved with flat
stones, and brilliantly lighted; and the active and pleasure-seeking
population of Paris crowd to these attractive and convenient places,