Outside of all the cafes little tables are placed on the pavement, with chairs around them.  These places are delightful in the summer evenings, and are always crowded.  A promenade through some of the best streets of a summer night is a brilliant spectacle, and more like a promenade through a drawing-room than through an American street.  The proprietors of those places do not intend to keep restaurants, but quite a variety of food, hot or cold, is always on hand, and wines of all kinds are sold.

I well remember my first visit to a French cafe.  It was when Louis Napoleon was president, not emperor of France, and when there was more liberty in Paris than there is now.  I dropped into one near the Boulevards, which, while it contained everything which could add to one’s comfort, still was not one of the first class.  Several officers were dining in it, and in some way I came in contact with one of them in such a manner that he discovered I was an American.  At once his conduct toward me was of the most cordial kind, and his fellows rose and bade me welcome to France.  The simple fact that I was a republican from America aroused the enthusiasm of all.  I found, afterward, that the regiment to which these officers belonged was suspected by the president of being democratic in its sympathies.

The reading-rooms of Paris are one of its best institutions.  They are scattered all over the city, but the best is Galignani’s, which contains over twenty thousand volumes in all languages.  The subscription price for a month is eight francs, for a fortnight five francs, and for a day ten sous.

There are reading-rooms furnished only with newspapers, where for a small sum of money one can read the papers.  These places are few in comparison with their numbers in the days of the republic, however.  Under the despotic rule of Louis Napoleon, the newspaper business has drooped.

An anonymous writer in one of Chambers’ publications, tells a good story, and it is a true one, of Pere Fabrice, who amassed a fortune in Paris.  The story is told as follows: 

“He had always a turn for speculation, and being a private soldier he made money by selling small articles to his fellow soldiers.  When his term of service had expired, he entered the employ of a rag-merchant, and in a little while proposed a partnership with his master, who laughed at his impudence.  He then set up an opposition shop, and lost all he had saved in a month.  He then became a porter at the halles where turkeys were sold.  He noticed that those which remained unsold, in a day or two lost half their value.  He asked the old women how the customers knew the turkeys were not fresh.  They replied that the legs changed from a bright black to a dingy brown.  Fabrice went home, was absent the next day from the halles, and on the third day returned with a bottle of liquid.  Seizing hold of the first brown-legged turkey he met with, he forthwith painted