The few days which I spent in this great city I utilized as much as possible in getting at least a glance at its many objects of interest. Of course I should not dream of giving an accurate description of what I saw. The rage for traveling is so universal at the present day, and the facilities for getting over hundreds of miles of ground, at least in Europe, in a few days’ time, are so great, that a large majority of my readers have probably been to Paris themselves; and those who have not seen the great city are sure to know, from the descriptions of other travelers, as much as I could tell them about it. I will, therefore, only describe in a very few words the impressions I carried away with me.
London and Paris differ as widely from one another as the English character from the French. In both cities there is plenty of life and bustle; but one can see at the first glance that in Paris it is not all, as in London, a _business life_. One does not see those rigid self-contained figures, wending their way with restless steps, careless of all that is passing around them, and seeming to consider every wasted minute as an irreparable loss. In Paris, lounging seems the order of the day, and even the bustling man of business finds time to greet his friends and exchange a few words with them, and to pause, moreover, for a few minutes in front of this or that shop, and admire the wares displayed with such really wonderful taste in the window.
The houses themselves don’t look so grave as the London domiciles. They are of large size (for in some more than thirty families live), and are not nearly so much blackened by coal-smoke as the London houses are. The doors are all open, and afford a view into neat court-yards, which are sometimes adorned with flowers--decidedly a more agreeable aspect than the tightly-closed doors of London, which seem to give the houses an uninhabited look.
In the evening the difference is most perceptible, for then the characteristic restlessness and love of pleasure inherent in the French display themselves in full force. All the streets, the public squares, the places of amusement, are equally crowded; and the Englishman, accustomed to spend his evenings in the family circle, by the fireside, for seven or eight months in the year, and in the garden of his cottage during the remaining four or five, might fancy, on first seeing the pressure and crush in the streets of Paris, that some public festival was being celebrated.