He sallies
forth at a certain hour every morning to take his cup of coffee and his
roll at a certain cafe, where he reads the papers. He has been a regular
admirer of the lady who presides at the bar, and always stops to have a
little _badinage_ with her _en passant_. He has his regular walks
on the Boulevards and in the Palais Royal, where he sets his watch by the
petard fired off by the sun at midday. He has his daily resort in the
Garden of the Tuileries, to meet with a knot of veteran idlers like
himself, who talk on pretty much the same subjects whenever they meet. He
has been present at all the sights and shows and rejoicings of Paris for
the last fifty years; has witnessed the great events of the revolution; the
guillotining of the king and queen; the coronation of Bonaparte; the
capture of Paris, and the restoration of the Bourbons. All these he speaks
of with the coolness of a theatrical critic; and I question whether he has
not been gratified by each in its turn; not from any inherent love of
tumult, but from that insatiable appetite for spectacle which prevails
among the inhabitants of this metropolis.
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