A GLIMPSE OF FRANCE. 211 



wish the whole thing well through with. So that 

 Paris was no paradise to one American at least. 

 Yet, the mere change of air and sky, and the escape 

 from that sooty, all -pervasive, chimney-flue smell of 

 London, was so sudden and complete, that the first 

 hour of Paris was like a refreshing bath, and gave 

 rise to a satisfaction in which every pore of the skin 

 participated. My room at the hotel was a gem of 

 neatness and order, and the bed a marvel of art, com- 

 fort, and ease, three feet deep at least. 



Then the uniform imperial grace and eclat of the 

 city was a new experience. Here was the city of 

 cities, the capital of taste and fashion, the pride and 

 flower of a great race and a great history, the city of 

 kings and emperors, and of a people which, after all, 

 loves kings and emperors, and will not long, I fear, 

 be happy without them a gregarious, urbane peo- 

 ple, a people of genius and destiny, whose God is Art 

 and whose devil is Communism. London has long 

 ago outgrown itself, has spread, and multiplied, and 

 accumulated, without a corresponding inward expan- 

 sion and unification ; but, in Paris, they have pulled 

 down and built larger, and the spirit of centralization 

 has had full play. Hence, the French capital is su- 

 perb, but soon grows monotonous. See one street 

 and boulevard, and you have seen it all. It has the 

 unity and consecutiveness of a thing deliberately 

 planned and built to order, from beginning to end. 

 Its stone is all from one quarry, and its designs all 

 the work of one architect. London has infinite va- 



