8o The Public Gardens and Parks of Paris. 



of the magnificent Avenue des Champs Elysees, terminated on the 

 crest of the hill by the Arc de-Triomphe. This walk cuts the garden 

 into two portions chiefly planted by chestnuts and other tall trees, 

 which have not been sufficiently thinned, but are allowed to run up 

 very tail, and thus afford a high arched shade in summer, the ground 

 being gravelled underneath so that it is comfortable to walk or play 

 • upon. There is a slight narrow terrace on both sides, an orangery, 

 the contents of which are placed out in summer, an alley arched 

 over with lime trees by the side of the Rue de Rivoli, and at the 

 western end there are terraces which afford a capital view of the 

 bright and busy scene around and the magnificent avenue towards 

 the west. The sculpture is good, and there is a great deal of it, 

 both copies of celebrated works and original ones, but as for fresh 

 horticultural interest there is little or none to be seen ; and a passing 

 glance is all the visitor need bestow on the public part of the garden 

 of the Tuileries, though it is only fair to add that its general effect 

 is \ery good, and that it in all respects answers its purpose as a play 

 and promenading ground, and a "lung" to the city. 



But let us wait a moment to look at these people feeding the birds 

 so much to their own amusement, and also that of the lookers-on. 

 It is a pretty sight, and seems to afford much pleasure to many 

 people, and doubtless much more to the successful feeders. It is 

 quite a little scene in the gardens every day, and on fine days 

 it attracts numbers of people, though it is an every-day occur- 

 rence there. The Jardin des Tuileries is inhabited by a great number 

 of the common " ring dove," or "quest" — those wild pigeons which 

 in Britain and elsewhere, when in a wild state, flash away from 

 man like an arrow from the bow. In these and otlier gardens in 

 Paris they seem perfectly at home, and perch at ease in the trees 

 over the heads of the multitudes of children who play, and of 

 people who walk on fine days. Their intimacy does not extend 

 further except with their friends who come to feed them now and 

 then. Here is an instance. A man, evidently a respectable me- 

 chanic, comes to a certain spot, near the private garden of the 

 Emperor. Presently some of the pigeons fly to their friend. He 



