paper, have an air of cheerfulness quite indescribable, especially when connected with the moving, lively scene without, of which the constantly open door and windows afford an uninterrupted view. In looking on the scene below, the continuous lines of trees give such a rustic appearance to the whole, that it is difficult to imagine one’s self in the very heart of a great capital. To me the Boulevard had more the style of Lewisham or Clapham, or some of those “_rus in urbe_” sort of places so numerous in the vicinity of London. It seems bells are not in use at these places, and calling out or making a noise is vulgar. Therefore, instead of the constantly reiterated “Waiter! waiter!” a sort of masonic signal has been invented to call the attention of the attendants. I began at my first visit to Hardi’s as I would have done in England, and summoned the garçon _viva voce_; but I soon discovered by the glances shot from the tables, and the quick turning of heads, that there was something wrong, at least something unusual. I observed there was no calling, and yet tables were served; and by the occasionally sudden turning and going up to some particular one, I became aware that some other mode of communication must be established. I watched. The garçon was standing near the door looking at an English regiment at that moment passing along the Boulevard. An elderly gentleman, in a sad-coloured suit, who had hitherto been busily employed at the next table discussing his _potage_, stopping suddenly, looked sharply about the room as if in search of some one. His inquisitive glance settled at once on the garçon, and taking up the sharp-pointed knife that lay beside his plate (the knives here are all of one pattern, very common, and apparently made to be used as stilettos instead of for cutting beef or mutton), gently touched with it the side of his wine-glass, producing a slight jingling sound that scarcely reached my ear, close as we were to each other. It proved sufficient though, for the garçon started and was at his side in an instant. “Ma foi!” thought I, “this is a ‘wrinkle to my horn,’” I shall be quite an _habitué_. I tried the experiment again and again:--it never failed; and being now up to the thing, I soon observed that everybody used the same signal. It reminds me of the Spanish call, “Hist!” uttered from the tongue alone, without any sound from the chest. Things are uncommonly well cooked at Hardi’s, and served in most comfortable and respectable style. The napkins at a public table are quite new to us Englishmen. I had a _potage_, and one or two _petit-plats_, that I selected at random from the _carte_; for amongst the numbers figuring there, I knew not one by name, and most probably as little by nature. One thing I dislike in French cookery is the abominable fashion of disguising vegetables; one cannot even get a potato plain and unsophisticated. _Gâteau de pommes de terre_, or some such mixture of potatoes, butter, &c. &c., is the only way