charged, by the police, with the duty of
recording the departure and arrival of every
cab upon the stand; and, as empty cabs are
not allowed to linger, or, as the Parisians have
it, "maraud" about the streets, but must
proceed direct to the nearest stand when
they have discharged their fare, the difficulty
is obvious, especially as marauding entails a
fine of fifteen francs in each instance. The
chef may be noticed ensconced in a little box
about the size of a turnpike house near every
stand. From his little window he notices the
arrivals and departures; and by his clock
passengers are able to see the time at which
they take a cab, should they wish to hire it
by the hour. These chefs and under-chefs
are paid by the police—the former receiving
between eight hundred and one thousand
francs a year; and the latter thirty sous a
day. The under-chef makes up his income
by looking after the interests of the cabmen
while they are amusing themselves in the
nearest wine shop; for which duty he receives
occasional pourboires.

The cabman of Paris is severely watched
by the police; and he is generally a surly
fellow, upon whom slight punishment would
possibly have little effect. He is certainly
either a Norman or a Savoyard—just as
certainly as the water-carrier is an Auvergnat.
For the first complaint made against him of
extortion or impertinence he is fined, and his
badge is taken from him for four days. The
repetition of misconduct speedily entails
dismissal from the cab-box altogether. On
the other hand the police reward honest
cabmen who resist temptation, and carry to the
Prefecture goods or money they may find
in their vehicles. The names of these honest
men is placarded publicly upon all the
cab-stand boxes for the admiration of the passers-by.
This honour is likely to stimulate the
men to do their duty: to reward also is the
duty of those who are bound to punish. In
eighteen hundred and fifty-three, thus
stimulated, the cabmen of Paris carried, in bank
notes and coin, no less a sum than two
hundred and eighty-eight thousand and sixty
francs to the Prefecture.

The common cabs and cabriolets of Paris
are surpassed in numbers and in the elegance
of their appointments by those well-known
vehicles in which sly lovers repair to the Bois
de Boulogne; in which people wishing to
make an impression go their rounds to leave
their cards; and in which lorettes display the
last fashions. So brisk is the business of
love, and show, and vanity, that ample
business is found within the fortifications for five
thousand six hundred and seventy-one of
these carriages. They closely resemble the
doctor's brougham of suburban London. They
are driven by well-dressed coachmen, who get
only two francs and a half daily from their
masters, because the pourboire for the driver of a
remise exceeds that expected by the common
cabman. Ten sous, for instance, is an ordinary
pourboire to a remise driver. The single
brougham may be had for one franc fifteen
sous per hour; the cabriolets of the remise
class cost one franc and a half per hour; and
the calèches, which are elegant open vehicles
carrying four persons, charge two francs per
hour. These well-appointed hackney
carriages are also let out by the hour for
two francs and a half; or for the month at
about five hundred francs, with a pourboire
of twenty-five francs for the driver. Ten years
ago there were not more than four hundred of
these carriages in Paris. But within this time
the social aspect ot Paris has changed
considerably. Every year the number of visitors
increases; every year the Bourse counts new
lucky adventurers; every year some fresh
impulse is given to the commerce of the
capital; and thus every year more people
are ready to pass from the convenience of the
cab-stand to the more aristocratic vehicle
which rests under a gateway. The man who
can now afford to dine at Vachette's drives
thither in a remise; forgetting, if he can, the
less sunny hours, when it was a treat to
rumble to a Barrière once a week in the
rickety milord, for the advantage of a cheap
repast. A recent French writer on the Bois
de Boulogne assures his readers that French
countesses, who drive past the Madrid at the
fashionable hour in their own gay carriages,
frequent the more lonely avenues of the wood
in a remise during the evening, accompanied
by their lovers, and with the curtains down.

It may be remarked as a characteristic of
the common Paris cabmen, and the drivers of
the remise, that they do their work with a
listlessness, which has something saucy in it.
They loll upon their boxes; plant their feet
upon the board before them; let the reins
hang loosely upon the horse's back; glance
sulkily to the right and left; and stop the
vehicle in obedience to your request without
either looking at you or moving from the
comfortable position. Ask them for change,
and they slowly proceed to gain the
perpendicular, drag the heavy leather purse from
their pocket, pause to exhibit the nicety of
the art of expectoration, place your five-franc
piece between their teeth, and then in the
course of two or three minutes, enlivened by
sundry guttural expressions of annoyance,
manage to drop the full change into your
hand. Give them a pourboire of ten centimes
only and they will receive it and deposit it
in their bag without appearing to notice your
existence; but if you require to be thanked
you must invest at least twenty-five centimes.
The cabmen of Paris, it must be allowed, have
neither the low vocabulary nor the insolent
menaces of the London tribe; but they have
a saucy, contemptuous manner, which is
equally galling. They say very little, because
they know that every oath may cost them a
round twenty francs; but you can see that it
is only the fear of police interference that
restrains them.