, still retains a shadow of the elegance of
former times. Madame makes a very pretty reverence, somewhat
ceremonious, according to the flippant ideas of the present day,
entreats Monsieur would put on his hat, would be in despair if he should
catch cold; he obeys, is enchanted to see her look so well, but
desolated to hear she has a little cold, and after expressing the most
fervent hopes for her getting better, he takes his leave, having too
good a notion of propriety to join the lady in her walk lest a _liaison_
between them might be suspected. How different this worn-out remnant of
the days of Louis the Sixteenth from _la jeune France_ of the present
day, when the usual greeting between the young men would be a nod of the
head, "_Bon jour, ca va bien?_" adieu, and away, which is tantamount to
"How do, quite well, good bye," and off; with a lady the abruptness
would be a little softened, but any politeness that gives much trouble
is quite at a discount with such young men of the present day in France.
A solitary workman, a sentinel, and an old soldier, if near the Hospital
of the Invalids, are probably the only persons you will usually meet on
the southern _Boulevards_, except now and then I have seen a ladies'
boarding-school thread its course beneath the thick foliage, whose
mistress perchance selects a retired spot for giving her pupils a little
air and exercise, removed from the gaze of the city throng.

Whatever pleasing impressions these shady retreats may have made upon
the mind, on re-entering Paris they are soon dissipated; if by the
public streets, the variety of noises which assail the ear, and the
confusion of so many people bustling along upon a little bit of pavement
not two feet wide, gives you plenty of occupation both to make your way,
and get out of the way; when, compelled to give place to some lady, you
descend from the narrow flags into the road, and whilst you are
manoeuvring to escape a cart you see coming towards you, "_Gare_" is
bawled out with stunning roar; you look round and find the pole of a
coach within an inch of your shoulder, you scramble out of the way as
fast as you can through mud and puddle, and are glad to clap your back
against a house to make room for some lumbering vehicle, where the naves
of the wheels stick out with menacing effect, happy to congratulate
yourself that there is just room enough for it to pass without jamming
you quite flat, and that you are quit of the danger