_7th._--To town as usual this morning for sight-seeing. From the Rue de Malte took my course through the court of the Louvre and the Place de Jena, still boarded up, crossed the Pont Neuf, “where it always blows,” and accordingly did blow there to-day certainly, more than elsewhere. Henri IV., with his manly countenance and pointed beard, smiled on me as I made my way through the crowd and plunged into the gloomy and shabby streets of the Pays Latin. Stopped at a mean, rather dirty restaurant in the Rue St Jacques, where I got a bad lunch, of course, and a bottle of sour wine; but for this there was no remedy, as I did not know of any better in the neighbourhood, to which I am a stranger. After doubling and threading my way through a number of dirty obscure streets, which no stranger could have done in London, I at last came out on the Quai St Bernard, where suddenly I found myself among hundreds, if not thousands, of pipes of wine ranged in tiers. It is the Marché aux Vins; and whilst seated upon one of these pipes enjoying the busy scene around, I mentally bless the ingenious system of numbering the houses and naming the streets that has enabled me to steer through such a labyrinth as I have just passed, and which might so well and so easily be applied in London. All streets running to the Seine are numbered in _black_; all those parallel, or nearly so, to the river in _red_. Starting from the river, the numbers commence in a double series in these transverse streets; and in the longitudinal streets the series of numbers follow the course of the stream,--equal numbers always on the right, unequal on the left. In the same manner the names at the corners of the streets are of a similar colour to the numbers; and moreover, some remarkable object, giving a designation to the quarter, is painted at the corners. The Jardin des Plantes, or du Roi, is adjoining the Marché aux Vins, and thither I went, walking in amongst other company without let or hindrance of any kind. In this garden, the Menagerie, and the Cabinet d’Histoire Naturelle, I passed nearly the whole afternoon in the most agreeable manner possible. Much as I had heard of this establishment, the reality rather surpassed than fell short of it--and sorry I am to say we can boast of nothing at all equal to it in England; nor, if we did, could our populace be admitted to it with the same freedom as the more volatile yet more considerate _badauds_ are to this. Everything would soon be ruined. The men would trample over the beds, the boys would break down the hedges and fences; knives would operate in all directions; even the women would find some means of doing mischief;--in short, it would never do. Here, on the contrary, it was with pleasure that I observed people of all classes of society, even beggars, conducting themselves with a modesty and decency of manner not to be surpassed. The choice of ground has been very judicious, as the plan presents