gardens of the Tuileries, that here I experienced a disappointment similar to that inflicted by the Champs Elysées. Nevertheless they certainly form a very agreeable promenade. That part immediately under the windows of the palace is laid out in parterres of flower-beds of different geometrical figure. I should say that the garden is a dead level.[15] Between the parterres are broad walks, well rolled and well swept. The further part is a grove, forming a cool and pleasant promenade or lounge, much taken advantage of by the Parisians, who may be seen lounging in one or two chairs, as may be, in all directions. These chairs are the property of individuals who bring them there, and make a livelihood by letting them out at two or three sous the chair. Similar accommodation, it appears, is to be found in every public place, even in the Boulevards. The ramparts (rather grandiloquent, when speaking of a mere terrace), which surround the garden on three sides, are planted also, and afford a most interesting promenade from the views they command; yet, strange to say, people appear to prefer the more confined one below. Although I do not like the formal laying out of these gardens, yet can I not but confess there is something very lordly (or kingly) in them. The broad, well-kept gravel-walks, the play of the fountains, the numerous orange-trees in boxes, which fill the air with their delicious but rather overpowering perfume, the multitude of statues, the view down the centre _allée_, which is prolonged into an immense perspective by being on the same line with that of the Champs Elysées, and on the other hand the ancient and venerable pile, with its numerous windows, long covered verandas, &c., overlooking the whole. The gaily-dressed crowd, too, by which the garden is almost always filled, gives it a holiday air very pleasing. Passing once more through the palace and traversing the Place du Carrousel, we soon reached the southern entrance of the Palais Royal. It was “change time,” and the place in front of the gate was filled with business-like people, exactly as in our Royal Exchange. What a strange propensity the French have for misnomers! On entering the so-called “_garden_”[16] of the Palais Royal, I was for the third time disappointed. Instead of a garden I found myself in an immense arid esplanade, surrounded (at least on three sides) by lofty uniform buildings, the façade of which was decorated by Corinthian pilasters, and surmounted by vases, &c. An arcade ran all round the base. The side by which we entered was disfigured by a shabby wooden erection, under which were numerous stalls of petty dealers in every sort of articles, but apparently all of inferior quality. Under the arcades were shops of a better description, intermingled with cafés, restaurants, &c., and here was certainly a splendid display of goods of the richest kind. Watch-makers exhibited the most elegant little toys, enriched with pearls and chased-work; jewellers the most