But, to return to La Maison Neuve. It was hissed at first, its satire was perhaps a little too piquant; but some of the thorns being removed, it blooms in glory, and Frenchman clap furiously at the merciless cutting up of Boulevard Malesherbes, and the upstart fashions of young France. From what I have seen and observed, I fancy the play is an exaggerated, but on the whole a tolerably faithful picture of modern French life, with its want of depth, its tinsel, its sham, and its immorality. But let us leave the theatre--though the charming, light, natural acting, which we heavier Americans cannot imitate, make it wonderfully attractive--in turn once more to Paris streets. {99} After all, life is not in the houses, or rather slices of houses, which people call apartments, but in the streets. At this season, one does not feel astonished at it; every body, even the rheumatic old bachelor, feels tempted to leave the smoky chimney--why do French chimneys always smoke?--and wander up and down peering into all the shop windows, with their wealth of beautiful things, tempting one to buy a Christmas or New Year's gift for every body under the sun. We must acknowledge that our cousins of France have a most wonderful art of displaying their merchandise to the best advantage. Did anyone ever imagine anything more seductive than a French confectioner's? It is really dangerous to pass the establishments of Boissier and others on the Boulevard, with their beautiful display of boxes, caskets, vases, and quaintly dressed figures of grand ladies, etc., all filled with delicious bonbons. As to the toys, there is positive genius displayed in these pleasures of a moment; indeed, these shop-keepers are not only artists, they are satirists. Approach, dear ladies, look at these dolls, and sigh for fashion, if you can; these unimaginable gew-gaws, these extraordinarily long robes, which give the dear creatures the appearance of being half on the floor, and half above it, these--these ... but I lack the milliner vocabulary, or I would stun you with the etceteras; then the turn of the head, the stare through the miniature eye-glass, and the little curly dog led by a ribbon! Messieurs the shop-keepers! I bow to you, you are greater satirists even than those sharp-penned writers of a certain New York literary review.