120 THE PAEKS AND GARDENS OP PARIS. [Chap. VHI. 



ever, has shown how utterly this opinion was devoid of founda- 

 tion. At the inauguration of the Pare Monceau all the gates 

 were thrown open to the crowd. No surveillance was exercised 

 over the j5fty thousand persons who crowded the walks. At the 

 end of the day the total amount of damage done only amounted to 

 some thirty-five shillings for a few turf borders that had been 

 trampled upon. The fact is perfectly conclusive. Besides, the 

 squares have now been opened for a long time, and the numberless 

 frequenters of them have conducted themselves with admirable 

 order and decency. The people evidently understand that they 

 are at home ; that it is for their especial behoof that the gardens 

 have been constructed ; they know that in pulling up a flower it 

 is their own property they are destroying ; and, moreover, they 

 evince a respectful gratitude for the hands that have given them 

 these pleasant places of resort. The establishment of public 

 squares in Paris is an eminently social idea. We repeat it tends 

 to regenerate the human race by the development of the physical 

 forces ; by exercise in the open air it improves the morals of the 

 people, by allowing the working-man to change the dirty wine- 

 shop for a pleasant walk and an agreeable resting-place; and, 

 lastly, it proves our readiness to adopt in our own country what- 

 ever appears good and useful to our neighbours." 



It is to be hoped that we in our turn shall show an equal 

 readiness to profit by the excellent example shown us in city 

 squares. There are many private squares in London which 

 merely occupy space that otherwise would be devoted to the 

 gardens of the houses around ; but, on the other hand, there are 

 not a few which seem to invite a trial of the system found to work 

 so well in Paris. 



"Whatever the condition of the squares of London now, we should 

 be thankful that we have them. The haunts of disease are 

 weakened by these islets in our desert of slate, brick, and mud. 

 In them the sun shines— dimly, no doubt, from our smoke-plague 

 — the air seems to attain a little more freedom, and trees persist 

 in growing, no matter how badly they are treated. We have 

 many squares in London, but assuredly not half so many as its 

 colossal expanse requires. In the suburbs, unhappily, they do 

 not seem fashionable with the cheap builders nowadays. If 

 matters were arranged as in Paris, the square and the wide airy 



