left to pray, preach, dance, or work, just as they pleased on the Sabbath day.  The present King,[12] as you well know, attempted the introduction of something like an English Sabbath:  but it would not do.  When the French read and understand GRAHAME[13] as well as they do THOMSON, they will peradventure lend a ready and helping hand towards the completion of this laudable plan.  At present, there is much which hurts the eye and ear of a well-educated and well-principled Englishman.  There is a partial shutting up of the shops before twelve; but after mid-day the shop-windows are uniformly closed throughout Paris.  Meanwhile the cart, the cabriolet, the crier of herbs and of other marketable produce—­the sound of the whip or of the carpenter’s saw and hammer—­the shelling of peas in the open air, and the plentiful strewing of the pod hard by—­together with sundry, other offensive and littering accompaniments—­all strike you as disagreeable deviations from what you have been accustomed to witness at home.  Add to this, the half-dirty attire—­the unshaven beard of the men, and the unkempt locks of the women—­produce further revolting sensations.  It is not till past mid-day that the noise of labour ceases, and that the toilette is put into a complete state for the captivation of the beholder.  By four or five o’clock the streets become half thinned.  On a Sunday, every body rushes into the country.  The tradesman has his little villa, and the gentleman and man of fortune his more capacious rural domain; and those, who aspire neither to the one or the other, resort to the Bois de Boulogne and the Champs Elysees, or to the gardens of Beaujon, and Tivoli—­or to the yet more attractive magnificence of the palace and fountains of Versailles—­where, in one or the other of these places, they carouse, or disport themselves—­in promenades, or dancing groups—­till

   ...  Majores.. cadunt de montibus umbrae.

This, generally and fairly speaking, is a summer Sabbath in the metropolis of France.

Unconscionable as you may have deemed the length of this epistle, I must nevertheless extend it by the mention of what I conceive to be a very essential feature both of beauty and utility in the street scenery of Paris.  It is of the FOUNTAINS that I am now about to speak; and of some of which a slight mention has been already made.  I yet adhere to the preference given to that in the Palais Royal; considered with reference to the management of the water.  It is indeed a purely aqueous exhibition, in which architecture and sculpture have nothing to do.  Not so are the more imposing fountains of the MARCHE DES INNOCENS, DE GRENELLE, and the BOULEVARD BONDY.  For the first of these,[14] the celebrated Lescot, abbe de Clagny, was the designer of the general form; and the more celebrated Jean Goujon the sculptor of the figures in bas-relief.  It was re-touched and perfected in 1551, and originally stood in the