Chapter I: HAVE marvelled at nothing more, in Paris, than the rarity of female

beauty. I have been in the Boulevards, and other fashionable resorts, at fashionable hours, many a time and oft; but I do not recollect having seen a single French woman decidedly pretty. In some of the galleries, I observed occasionally a lady who might be called so, but they always proved to be English. It seemed more singular, as the prevalent notions of Paris with us led me to expect a brilliant display 'in this line.' But if the French damsels are deficient in personal attractions, they certainly are not in graceful and fascinating manners; and this remark will apply almost equally to the peasant girl and the queen. The style of dress of the Parisian ladies seemed to me very neat, simple, and tasteful, and certainly much less _showy_ than that of the belles of Gotham, who, it must be owned, are apt to be somewhat _ultra_ in the _extremes_ of foreign fashions. There is sound policy, no doubt, in the practice of employing young women as clerks in the shops; they certainly have an irresistible way of recommending their wares, charming you by their ineffable sweetness and apparent naïveté, while they draw as liberally as possible on your purse.

They have a queer way of naming, or _dedicating_ their shops; such as 'à la belles, Anglaise,' 'à la ville de New-York,' etc. In many of them there is a notification that the prices are _fixed_ and unchangeable; but I understand they generally take care that the _Anglaise_, (who seem to be proverbial as a wealthy nation,) shall pay a suitable advance. '_Combien?_' proves to be a very useful word, and answers just as well as '_Quel est le prix?_' The bill of fare at the restaurants is quite a curiosity. You may have, in the medium establishments, an excellent dinner for twenty-five or thirty cents, including two or three 'plates,' and a choice from nearly one hundred and fifty, beside the dessert and the _vin ordinaire_. Omnibuses originated in Paris; and they are now very abundant, convenient, and cheap. You may ride from the Gobelins to Mont Mâitre, about four miles, for six sous; and if you wish to stop on the way, they will give you, gratis, a _correspondence-ticket_ to proceed. They are regulated by government, and taxed and licensed for so many passengers.

While admiring the palaces and public buildings in Paris, one cannot but be surprised that the meanest huts should be permitted to remain in their immediate neighborhood, as at the Louvre, Tuilleries, Luxembourg, and the palace of the Institute, where bits of book-stalls and shoe-makers' shops are placed against the very walls of those stately edifices.

An American, of course, notices as something strange, the _military_ government, which is every where so apparent. Wherever you go, in public buildings, in the parks, or in the streets, you are always sure to meet soldiers, policemen, or 'secret service' spies. The members of the 'National Guards' are, (apparently for a politic purpose,) interspersed among the 'troops of the line,' or standing army. The National Guards are citizen volunteers, who serve by turns a certain length of time. Their whole number is about two hundred and fifty thousand, and hence their immense importance to the government.

Paris affords an inexhaustible fund of topics for the travelling letter-writer, but I must recollect that it _has_ been spoken of, _occasionally_, before. Let me remind you again, my dear ----, that these rough memorandums are made almost literally 'on the gallop,' by a _business_ youth, and they are not intended to edify any one but yourself.[3]

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GENEVA, (SWITZERLAND,) AUGUST 19, 1836.--Yes, it is even so! After a rather tedious journey of three days and four nights from Paris, I find myself in Switzerland; in Geneva, looking out upon Lake Leman by moonlight, on a lovely summer evening.

To retrace: At four P. M., on the 14th, I seated myself in the diligence for Lyons. One of my companions was a very _nice_ and pretty young lady, who proved to be Paulina Celeste, a Signorina of Milan, returning with her mother from an engagement at the Italian Opera, in London. She was quite intelligent, but could not speak a word of English, except 'very warm,' (and indeed it was;) but I managed to amuse myself, if not her, in some funny attempts at conversation in French.

We rode out of Paris over Pont Neuf, passing Notre Dame and the Jardin des Plants, and proceeded by a dull and level road, (leaving Fountainbleau and St. Dennis on either side,) along the banks of the Yonne to Villeneuve, Pont-sur-Yonne, Sens, Joigny, etc., without any remarkable incident, except that I had the pleasure of being left behind at one of the stopping places, at eleven o'clock at night. The conducteurs, when they have taken your money for the whole route, care very little whether you proceed or not; and I was indebted to a long hill for detaining the diligence till I overtook it, after a _hot_ chase of a couple of miles. The next morning at eleven o'clock we were graciously allowed time to break our fasts of twenty-seven hours; and a very ordinary _dejéuner_ was despatched, as you may imagine, with considerable zeal.

Nearly two-thirds of the journey is through corn-fields and vineyards, affording no fine scenery, but entering a score of petty villages, made up of the most uncouth and wretched huts imaginable. The only places worth mentioning, were Auxerre, an ancient town, fortified by the Romans; Autun, which we entered under a Roman arch or barrier; Metun, Avallon, Ville-Franche, and Chalons-sur-Soane, which latter is quite a pretty place, in a fine situation on the banks of the Soane. We dined there on poulet, pigeon, potage, melon, bits of lobsters, two inches long, and a variety of dishes so disguised as to be nameless; with fresh prunes, pears, and grapes for a dessert. Delicious fresh prunes and grapes may be had here almost for the taking, but apples, pears, and melons, are scarce and dear.

At eight A. M., on the 17th, we entered Lyons, the second city in the kingdom, celebrated for its silk and other manufactories. A great portion of all the French finery which you wear, comes from Lyons. This city is built between the Rhone and the Soane, which are here about an eighth of a mile apart, and both very rapid; so there are abundant facilities for water-power machinery. The bridges and quays are of stone, and are very handsome. Lofty heights, surmounted with fortifications, flank the city on either side, and give it an air of strength and importance. Eagerly looking forward to Italy, there was little to detain me here. I was disappointed, however, in not finding any conversible travellers here, on their way to the 'sunny land;' and ten minutes were allowed me to decide whether I would go alone to Marseilles, and take the steam-boat for Genoa and Naples, in the face of the cholera, and at the risk of horrible quarantines; or turn off to Geneva, with the chance of finding a companion across the Simplon. The _safer_ alternative was adopted; and taking leave of the pretty _danseuse_, with a promise to call on her at Milan, I mounted the banquette, and had another uncomfortable night-ride.[4]

The next morning, however, was beautiful, and we already began to have a taste for Swiss scenery, which appears to extend forty or fifty miles into France. The remainder of the journey was over long hills and dales; and we walked a considerable portion of it, enjoying occasionally a noble view of rough mountains and green valleys. At every hamlet and village, our passports were examined by epauletted officers. Near the frontiers of Switzerland, the Rhone comes tumbling down between two steep and lofty hills; those referred to, probably, by 'Childe Harold:'

'Where the swift Rhone cleaves his way between
Heights which appear like lovers who have parted
In haste--whose mining depths so intervene
That they can meet no more, though broken-hearted.'

This is the only pass to this quarter of France, and is rendered impregnable by a strongly-fortified castle, lately built on the side of the crag, _over_ the road; so that all travellers must pass through the court-yard, and submit to close examination. At five P. M., our passports were received by an officer in more simple uniform than usual; and this was the first intimation that we had left the dominions of Louis Phillipe, and entered those of his republican neighbors. We soon saw other changes. The neat and comfortable cottages, and the taste and industry displayed in the adjoining grounds and gardens, in approaching Geneva, form a striking contrast to the miserable huts and farm-houses of the peasantry of France. Verily, the lower classes of the French are a filthy people. They seem to have no idea of neatness, propriety, and comfort, in any thing. As farmers, and in nearly all the _useful_ arts, they are a century behind the English. Madame Trollope, methinks, might here indulge her satirical pen, to her heart's content. But we were entering Geneva.

It was on a 'soft and lovely eve,' at six, when this pretty town and prettier lake, with the charming walks and gardens of the environs, first greeted our admiring vision. The frowning Jura looks down upon the lake on one side, and the distant snow-capped Alps, with Mont Blanc duly conspicuous, bound the horizon on the other. At the gates of the town, which is strongly walled, those important documents, our passports, were again given up for inspection at the Bureau of the 'Confederation Fedérale.' The diligence passed round the famous great Hotel des Bergues, and over the pretty bridge which you see in the pictures, and set us down at the Hotel de l'Europe, where I was _favored_ with a bit of a room on the fifth floor, for the hotels are all crowded. The Bergues, by the way, is considered the best public house on the continent. There you may mix with lords, princes, pretty ladies, and handsome equipages, from all parts of Europe. This place being the head-quarters for tourists to Italy, and noted for its delightful situation and pure air, is always a favorite resort, especially for the fashionable and wealthy English.

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