THE IMMORALITY AND LICENTIOUSNESS OF THE CAPITAL.—COMPARISON WITH OTHER CITIES.—FRENCH ETHICS AND LITERATURE.—DIFFERENT GRADES OF THE DEMI-MONDE.—THE TRUE STORY OF CAMILLE.—THE GARDENS ON THE SEINE.—THE DANCES AND THE DANCERS.—THE PETITS SOUPERS OF THE COCOTTES.—AFTER-MIDNIGHT SCENES.—ACTRESSES AND CHAMPAGNE.—ADVENTURESSES AND CHÂTEAU MARGAUX.—INTERIOR OF A THIEF’S DEN AND MURDERER’S CELLAR.—BLOODTHIRSTY VIRAGOES AND DESPERATE CUTTHROATS. The demi-monde is aptly named; for, while it is so eminently worldly, the world rejects it, and in most instances assumes to be unconscious of its existence. In the French capital it is accepted as a fact, and it can hardly be any more dangerous there on that account, than it is in cities where it is ignored. The French have gained the reputation, but without any good reason, of being much more immoral than other nations. We Americans are constantly asserting this, and our iteration has had the effect, no doubt, of inducing us to believe that we are a great deal better than they. Our assumptions are unquestionably loftier, and we are more anxious to hide our defects; but that we have fewer vices, setting aside our pretences, and stripping off our shams, must not be too hastily admitted. It is to the disadvantage of the modern Gauls that on many subjects they are inclined to say what they think, while we are disposed to think what we do not say. They, too, take human nature as they find it, as it has been from the first; having no expectation of changing it by shutting it up on one side, and giving it free vent on the other. French authors are not at all squeamish or puritanical, and are addicted to the treatment of themes which we discuss only in private. The cities of France, notably Paris, do not robe themselves in external sanctity, careless of the inner quality of their ethical raiment, and, on account of their openness of speech and deportment, they are gravely misjudged. [Sidenote: THE WORST CITY IN THE WORLD.]