them very wide, but almost all of them without _trottoirs_. Beyond these the streets are generally very narrow, dirty, and dark. This obscurity is caused by the enormous height of the houses in the old parts of the town, and their sombre hue--I was going to say _their being blackened by smoke_, but that can scarcely be possible, since from using so much wood one never sees that thick canopy of smoke hanging over Paris that usually shuts out the feeble rays of the winter’s sun from the citizens of our metropolis. The close confined streets, indeed all the older streets of Paris, are redolent at all times of a most disagreeable odour. Evelyn, 160 years ago, said the streets of Paris smelt of sulphur. The innumerable lamps swinging from ropes over the centre of these streets give them, in my eyes, a very mean appearance. I don’t know why, but they seem, too, in the way. These ropes lead down the wall on one side of the street in a sort of wooden case, the key of which being kept by the lamp-lighter, mischievous people are unable to get at the lamps without breaking open these cases--an operation requiring time, and not performed without noise, therefore almost impossible with such a vigilant police. But the greatest ornament of the town, and no doubt that which contributes most to its salubrity, is the great avenue which, under various names, is called generally the Boulevards, from occupying the site of the ancient ramparts of Paris. Since the increase of the faubourgs has placed these in the midst of the town as it were, a second concentric circle, called the New Boulevard, has been formed; but this seems a mere circular road, not much frequented: and along it is the only enclosure Paris now possesses--a simple stone wall, connecting the barriers, and thereby insuring the fiscal duties. Of the old Boulevards I spoke some days ago; it were needless, therefore, to fill my journal with repetition. They must be acknowledged as a most agreeable and amusing lounge. After the streets, the quays of Paris naturally attract our attention--a feature so ornamental, so commodious, so salubrious, that we wonder our own metropolis should be destitute in this respect. What a noble thing it would be were our fine river bordered by such quays as those de Buonaparte, des Tuileries, de Voltaire, de la Conference, &c., instead of being enclosed as it is between such a set of shabby wooden or brick warehouses!