Middletown transcript., 1869-03-27

shattered jaw, on rickety table, few
hours before being taken to the scaffold.
Paris is the heart of France, and the
centre of the world. Germans and Amer
leans call it the unique city of pleasure;
the Prussian admits that it is paradise
the Russian finds it his educator; the
Turk his puzzle; the Japanese mystery;
the Egyptian thing to be worshipped.
The Partisan born finds it impossible to
shake off its influence Outside the city's
walls he feels among strangers. Paris is
France, but France is not Paris. The
Parisan is Frenchman, but only two
millions of Frenchmen are Parisians.
At one end of the city stands the re-
nowned Tuileries; at the other lie hidden
the "quarries," " where nightly scores of
vagabonds find rest ON damp earth. Here
the comfortable jostle the miserable; here
all human cries so blend together, that on
ly one pean of harmony seems to be heard.
Let Victor Hugo, in his elegant diction
tell what Paris was. For Caesar, tribu-
tary city for Julian, a country-seat; for
Charlemagne, a school; for Hugh Capet,
family palace; for Philip Augustus, a
fortress; for Louis the Healstrong, q glib
bet; for Charles the Fifth, a library for
Louis the Eleventh, printing establish
ment; for Francis First, a cabaret; for
Richelieu an academy; for Louis Four
teenth, the place for beds of justice and
burning chambers; and for Bonaparte,
the grand starting-point for war. Tiberi-
us, so to speak, laid the first stone of No
tire Dame; it was he who found this place
good for a temple, and who had erected
there an altar to the god Ccronnos and
the bull Esus. On Mount St. Genevieve,
Mercury has been worshipped; Apollo
adored on the island of Louviers; and Car
acalla. that emperor who killed his broth
er. Geta. to make him god, on the site
of the Tuileres.
For the rest, you have only to consult
the books in the Bibliotheque du Roi.
From the days of Clovis until now, you
will find nothing more romantic than is
discovered in the modern Paris to-day, the
city increased in extent from nine meagre
acres to seventeen thousand, pushed for
ward in the progress of the centuries from
an obscure hamlet in forest islet to the
forefront of civilization, to be echoed in all
lands and tongues as the city.
Old landmarks vanish now -a-days rapid
ly as did the crowd Napoleon blew from
the steps of St. Roche, where the French
Revolution was fated to finish
The modern Babylon gets improve
ments, wondrous adornment, so marvel
ously quick that one might imagine the
last Of the Caesars had been taught the Sc
cret of summoning the obedient genii
Myriads of blue -bloused workmen stand in
rows. WELD their nervous arms, and
straightway magic palaces rise, glittering
promenades are thronged, where of late
stood only mean and narrow streets, dirty
and hideous pavements.
To the stranger who is willing to be a
cosmopolitan, and whose virtuous habits
engender early rising. nothing can be more
delightful than to get out of fresh June
morning at six o'clock, and stroll down
the 'true boulevards" from the Varieties
theatre to the corner of Rue de la Paix
Quietness pervades the fashionable ave-
nues at that hour. The cafes are closed
and will be for nearly three hours yet; not
shutter is taken down from a store; and
only now and then an uncomfortable look
ing omnibus glides up to the station near
the Passage des Panoramas.
The tall, yellow white, silent houses
seem like the ghosts of the cleaning, roll
licking palaces of pleasure, and luxurious
traffic, seen the previous evening. Before
seven o'clock the street sweeper-general-
ly frugal and good natured Dutchman-
has made the cutters pure with fresh run
ming water, fed from hydrants to nova
BILE hose on wheels; and the rag-picker,
having been his dreary rounds many hours
before, no taint left by last nights tramp
of the thousands offends sight or SMELL
AS the bells in the church towers sound
seven, omnibuses begin to make their ap-
pearance To see the whole length of the
magnificent boulevards mount one of these
convenient vehicles.
At the little station near the Passage
des Panoran,as, you enter, and the polite
official in fat glazed cap and clothes of
navy blue. finds time to say, "Good morn
ing" as we'll as hand you a billet, printed
red, yellow, or green, according to the
line you wish to take. The billet is mum
bered, and as the light "bus" rattles up, the
conductor calls out the numbers, one,
two, three, four, etc. to twelve. So the
interior is full, and you are to ascend. The
Paris omnibus carries twentyfour persons,
twelve inside and twelve perched on bench
es on the "imperial," as the top, protected
by strong ratings. is called. You mount
by easily-winding steps; you sit down
with eleven other persons; there is nc
crowding, no Groom for one more = the
conductor pulls up little sign, complete,
tall FULL" over the door, and the watch
er on the pavement for "bus" sees there
is no chance here. When the conductor
has collected six sous each of the .sinsid-
ers." he mounts your perch, and demands
three Of you and your fellows.
After riding to the upper end of the true
bouleyards, You take the ticket Of cores
poadaace which the omnibus conductor
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