ABSTRACT
WE have been driving at a furious rate, for several days past, through the city of Paris, which I think bears the same resemblance to London (if you will allow me the indulgence of a simile) that the grand natural objects in a rude and barren country bear to the tame but regular beauties of a scene rich with cultivation. The streets of Paris are narrow, dark, and dirty; but we are repaid for this by noble edifices, which powerfully interest the attention. The streets of London are broad, airy, light, and ele-gant; but I need not tell you that they lead scarcely to any edifices at which foreigners do not look with contempt. London has, therefore, most of the beautiful, and Paris of the sublime, according to Mr. Burke’s definition of these qualities; for I assure you a sensation of terror is not wanting to the sublimity of Paris, while the coachman drives through the streets with the impetuosity of a Frenchman, and one expects every step the horses take will be fatal to the foot passengers, who are heard exclaiming, 45 * “Que les rues de Paris font aristocrates.” By the way, aristocracie, and à la nation, are become cant terms, which, as Sterne laid of tant pis, and tant mieux, may now be considered as two of the great hinges in French conversation. Every thing tiresome or unpleasant, “c’est une aristocracie!” and every thing charming and agreeable is, “à la nation.”
