ng mostly handsome stone
buildings with columns that give them an imposing effect, particularly
when we recollect the little turnpike gates at the principal entrances
of London, with the exception of the recent erections at Knightsbridge,
which sink into nothingness when compared to the Triumphal Arch at the
entrance already described; and, except foreigners, particularly the
English, enter by that quarter, the first aspect of Paris mostly
excites disappointment; the generality of the streets wanting that
straight line of regularity so prevalent throughout London, the French
capital has an incongruous patchy sort of effect, and its beauties and
objects of interest have to be sought, but to the eye of an artist it is
much more gratifying than that dull sameness which reigns throughout
London, which Canova very justly designated as consisting of walls with
square holes in them; for what otherwise can be said of our houses in
general, but that they are literally upright walls, with square holes
for doors and windows. Regent Street and a few others, which have been
recently erected, form an exception to the rule. But in almost every
street in Paris a draftsman finds subject for his pencil; their richly
carved gateways, their elaborately wrought iron balconies, their
ornamented windows, and even their protruding signs, all help to break
the formal straight line and afford ample food for sketching; and in
many of their old and least fashionable streets, an ancient church with
its gothic doorway, adorned by rich and crumbling sculpture, invites the
artist to pause and exercise his imitative art. Paris at first strikes a
stranger as still more bustling and noisy than London, as the streets
being narrower and hack vehicles more used in proportion, the
circulation gets sooner choked up, and the rattling over the stones of
the carriages is still more deafening, being within so confined a space;
hence also the confusion is greater; then there is always a sort of
bewilderment when one first arrives in a large city, that makes it
appear much more astounding than is found to be the case as soon as the
visiter becomes accustomed to its apparent labyrinth.

According to comparative calculations, and taking the medium, Paris is
about twenty-two miles round, and the population, foreigners included,
one million; many estimate it at eleven hundred thousand, which I have
no doubt it may be, if several villages be included which absolutely
jo