notice,
the history of most individuals appears to a certain degree written on
their exterior; and a morning's walk brings you in contact with all the
diversities of character which rapidly succeeding events have created.
The old beau, with the identical toupet of 1770; the musty, moth-eaten
nondescripts sometimes seen at the mass of Notre Dame, which remind you
of a still earlier period; the faded royalist, with a countenance
saddened by the recollection of former days; the ex-militaires, whose
looks own no friendship with "the world or the world's law;" the old
bourgeois riding in the same roundabout with his grandchildren, and
enjoying the _jeu de bague_ as cordially,--revolve in succession like
the different figures in a magic lantern, while the place of Punch and
Pierrot is supplied by a host of laborious drolls and _gens a
l'incroyable_. The various members of this motley assemblage appear also
more distinct from each other, as connected in the recollection with
places so strongly marked by historical events, or bearing in themselves
so peculiar a character:--the place Louis Quinze, the grim old
Conciergerie, the deserted Fauxbourg St. Germain, with the grass
growing in its streets; the Place de Carousel, the Boulevards, and the
Catacombs, the Palais Royal and the Morgue.

To attempt, however, to say any thing new of a place so well known and
so fully described as Paris, would be as superfluous as to write the
natural history of the dog or cat. The peculiarities of such animals are
continually striking one in new and amusing points of view; but verbal
delineation has already done its utmost in acquainting us with them. In
like manner, every thing relating to Paris, and illustrative of it at a
period of interest which probably will not arise again for centuries,
has been already made known in Paul's admirable letters, in poor Scott's
powerful but unmerciful satire, and finally in a host of books,
booklings, and bookatees, teaching us how to spend any period of time at
Paris from three to three hundred and sixty-five days; how to enjoy it,
how to eat, drink, see, hear, feel, think, and economise in it. Kotzebue
has devoted sixty pages to its bon bons and savories; others more
modestly give you only a diary of their own fricasseed chicken and
champagne, and information of a still lower sort is supplied by the
delectable Mr. Hone, for the instruction of our Jerries and Corinthian
Toms. I shall commence dates, therefor