The Liverpool Standard and General Commercial Advertiser.
Liverpool, Merseyside, England, 1843-02-14 00:00:00

ne covered wit
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t it, the Nov

Market in Paris, by the

the city, where vice, crime, prostitution, slime ana moon,
have chosen to reside. A Flower Market near to them !
Near where you will find loose women in abundance, escaped
or freed convicts, from the galleys or the scaffold ! It cannot
be ! It is so notwithstanding. This is one of the singular
contrasts we frequently meet with, in Paris.
Come, let us go together, and pay our joint respects to the
perpetual rose, the tulip, and the laurel, the modest violets,
—modest enough yesterday, but which to-day breathe forth
their odours to tempt a purchaser. In that artificial parterre,
by the side of the flower of the field is the exotic of the hot-
bed ; near the odorous lily you will see the magnolia, with its
splendid blossoms ; next to the pot of mignonette, valued at
six sous, is placed the camelia, the pride of the winter soirees.
Here you will see approach as swiftly as her splendid horses
can draw her, the noble lady of the noble Faubourg. Grown
old at length, she has retained, amidst her faded amours,
only a great love for flowers. Nothing pleases, nothing
amuses her; for her music is but an empty sound, lost in
air; the finest pictures by Rubens or by Titian are nought
but a melange of faded colours ; poems are mere verse,which
speak only to the soul ; balls and fetes she finds fatiguing,
her taste for finery has long ago departed. Even scq„ndal,
Parisian scandal, the joy and triumph of the women, has lost
its charms, if not its relish, with this poor old woman. She
loves nothing, cares for nothing, but still loves the beautiful
flowers. She intoxicates herself with their sweet and fragrant
breaths : she knows every name in the Parisian Flora : she
understands the nature and properties of the least sprig' of
herb that grows in the fields. " Oh ! the white daisies, the wild
thyme so celebrated by La Fontaine ; oh ! the perriwinkle, be-
loved by Jean Jacques ; oh ! for the fresh leaves of my child-
hood, where the ancient trees of my father's park sheltered
me amid their thick shades, when the swan glided majestically
along the lake to welcome the child of the ancient house !"
poor woman, such are her reflections. Her childhood has
passed away like those beautiful flowers ! her youth has va-
nished like the perfume of those lilies, the royal flower of
France ! What has become of all those bright years ? and
all those attachments without end, and that fadeless love-
liness of which so much has been said ? How has it not fled

oman's heart

but 'ambition! But belief comes not to her heart ; she can-
not resign herself to pray to God, in all humility of spirit.

-. . .
Amidst of her flowers the faded beauty endeavours to awaken
the secret and pleasant emotions of her soul. How carefully
does she not study their history ; how smilingly does she not
order them to be carried to her carriage, and on her return
home how many an hour does she not pass in decorating with
them the walls of her apartments? . .

Totally opposed to this example of a Parisian lady, who
admires nothing but flowers, for whom nothing is left to love
—the Parisian Grisette loves flowers as she loves nothing

else,—she begins where the other finis

There is not in

, from its dull eminences to its chilly garrets
the house sparrow would hardly seek a resting place
being affected with a dizziness, a single Parisian gil

and lovely, that does not come at least once a week to the
Quai aux Fleurs to enjoy the Spring tide of heaven
Door Parisian girl who gains a living 1
r can be said to eat the
) go to a distance, to en,

a life of toil, who

a of comfort

the open fie

'sun upon them, as neitt

.r sun nor the bri

ongs of the birds, are to b,

1 bye pia
goes to

ears ; she