It is an immense city, being surrounded by ramparts twenty-one miles long, and is full of broad and handsome streets, magnificent buildings, grand open spaces with fountains and statues, great public gardens and parks free to everybody, and (what is more attractive to some people than anything else) it has miles and miles of stores and shops, which are filled with the most beautiful and interesting things that are made or found in any part of the world. All these articles are arranged and displayed so artistically, that people buy things in Paris which they would never think of buying anywhere else, simply because they had never before noticed how desirable such things were. But, even if we do not wish to spend any money, we can still enjoy the rare and beautiful objects for which Paris is famous; they are nearly all in the shop windows, and we can walk about and admire them for nothing and as much as we please. In many respects Paris is as lively as Naples; as grand as Rome; as beautiful, but in a different way, as Venice; almost as rich in remains of the Middle Ages as Florence; and yet, after all, it will remind you of none of those cities. Before we visit any particular place in Paris, we shall start out to explore the city as a whole; although I do not mean to say that we shall go over the whole of the city. Those of us who choose will walk, and that is the best way to see Paris, for we are continually meeting with something that we wish to stop and look at; but such as do not wish to take so long a walk may ride in the _voitures_, or public carriages, which abound in the streets of Paris. In fine weather, these are convenient little open vehicles, intended to carry two persons, though more can be sometimes accommodated. They can be hired for two francs (about forty cents) an hour, with the addition of a small sum called _pour-boire_ to which the driver is by custom entitled. Nearly everywhere we may see empty _voitures_, their drivers looking out for customers. When we want one, we do not call for it, nor do we stand on the curbstone and whistle, as if we were stopping a Fifth Avenue stage: If no driver sees us so that we can beckon to him, we follow the Parisian custom, and going to the edge of the pavement, give a strong hiss between our closed teeth. Instantly the nearest _cocher_, or driver, pulls up his horse and looks about him to see where that hiss comes from, and when he sees us, he comes around with a sweep in front of us.