The approach of spring is already visible here, and right glad am I to welcome its genial influence; for a Paris winter possesses in my opinion no superiority over a London one,—­nay, though it would be deemed by the French little less than a heresy to say so, is even more damp and disagreeable.

The Seine has her fogs, as dense, raw, and chilling, as those of old Father Thames himself; and the river approximating closer to “the gay resorts” of the beau monde, they are more felt.  The want of draining, and the vapours that stagnate over the turbid waters of the ruisseaux that intersect the streets at Paris, add to the humidity of the atmosphere; while the sewers in London convey away unseen and unfelt, if not always unsmelt, the rain which purifies, while it deluges, our streets.  Heaven defend me, however, from uttering this disadvantageous comparison to Parisian cars, for the French are too fond of Paris not to be proud even of its ruisseaux, and incredulous of its fogs, and any censure on either would be ill received.

The gay butterflies when they first expand their varicoloured wings and float in air, seem not more joyous than the Parisians have been during the last two days of sunshine.  The Jardins des Tuileries are crowded with well-dressed groups; the budding leaves have burst forth with that delicate green peculiar to early spring; and the chirping of innumerable birds, as they flit from tree to tree, announces the approach of the vernal season.

Paris is at no time so attractive, in my opinion, as in spring; and the verdure of the foliage during its infancy is so tender, yet bright, that it looks far more beautiful than with us in our London squares or parks, where no sooner do the leaves open into life, than they become stained by the impurity of the atmosphere, which soon deposes its dingy particles on them, “making the green one”—­black.

The Boulevards were well stocked with flowers to-day, the bouquetieres having resumed their stalls; and many a pedestrian might be seen bargaining for these fair and frail harbingers of rosy spring.

How exhilarating are the effects of this season on the spirits depressed by the long and gloomy winter, and the frame rendered languid by the same cause!  The heart begins to beat with more energetic movement, the blood flows more briskly through the veins, and the spirit of hope is revivified in the human heart.  This sympathy between awakening nature, on the earth, and on man, renders us more, that at any other period, fond of the country; for this is the season of promise; and we know that each coming day, for a certain time, will bestow some new beauty on all that is now budding forth, until glowing, laughing summer has replaced the fitful smiles and tears of spring.

And there are persons who tell me they experience nought of this elasticity of spirits at the approach of spring!  How are such mortals to be pitied!  Yet, perhaps, they are less so than we imagine, for the same insensibility that prevents their being exhilarated, may preclude them from the depression so peculiar to all who have lively feelings.