are cut against the opal west;
The river hath a soft and onward flow
   As some tired spirit fain to seek its rest,
While from the far outlying mists of green
Tinkle some vesper bells of Church unseen.

“Monk, Martyr, Saint, and paladin arise
   Around me now in pinnacled array;
An hour ago they seemed to touch the skies,
   At last I stand as near to heaven as they,
And at last ’mid this mute companionship of stone
I cannot feel that I am quite alone.”

CHAPTER II.

Arrival in Paris: Our Hotel—“Hotel Londres and New York”: Visit to the Louvre: The Cathedral of Notre Dame: The Church of St. Geniveve: The Pantheon: Bloody Bartholomew: Its awful massacre.

Our stay in Rouen was of the briefest, so we were soon full steam ahead for Paris, and Rouen was left behind.  We crossed some wonderful bridges of the rivers, or river; I think we crossed the Seine several times.

On approaching the suburbs of Paris, we saw large villas and larger mansions, surrounded with luxuriant foliage; indeed, the whole landscape is charming.  Soon we found the train rattling over points and crossings, and into Gare de Lazare.  So we are in Paris; the city of gaiety, the city of beauty, the goal of pleasure seekers from all parts of the world; a city, it is said by Victor Hugo, combines in itself—Athens, Rome, Jerusalem—such is the city we have just entered, and which is to be our home for two or three days.  The distance from the station to our Hotel—“Hotel Londres and New York,” 15, Place du Havre, is so short that our luggage was conveyed by porter, without a cab; we just walked across the square, and we were in the Hotel.  I had, however, a difficulty on hand with the porter.  My idea of remuneration for porter’s services were by no means up-to-date for Paris; I thought a franc for ten minutes’ service ample.  He, evidently, did not think so, as he showed himself highly dissatisfied, and expressed himself in language (happily I understood but little of) anything but polite.  I told the Hotel Manager how I had acted, and he went and sent him away.

When in Paris, if you are in doubt as to your exact position, and want direction (in England you would say, “ask a policeman”), in France—pardon, monsieur, Quel est le chemin pour le madoline.  If you put on side, he won’t notice you; if you offer him a tip, he will probably take you for a spy, and arrest you as an anarchist.  The lifting of the hat and the word “monsieur” is an open sesame which appeals to all Frenchmen, and smooths away many difficulties; it transforms the haughty policeman into the politest of bobbies; the frowning hotel-keeper into the most jovial of hosts; and the cross-grained custom house official into a most agreeable acquaintance.  You must avoid whistling while in Paris; the Scotchman says, “Ye mauna whustle on the Sabbath”; this saying must be applied to every day of the week in Paris; nothing is so irritating to a Frenchman, except perhaps the sight of a British tourist, arrayed in white flannels, marching in their grand Cathedrals, or even one of their ordinary Churches, with a cigarette in his mouth.  The untravelled man soon finds out the difference between an English and a Continental City, and habits of the people.

We were shown to our rooms, which we found clean and comfortable; the Hotel is all we could desire.  A porter, at the entrance, speaks fairly good English.  We soon had a good square meal, in the shape of table-de-hote, which we were quite ready for and enjoyed; plenty of fruit on the tables, grapes, oranges, apples and peaches.  After satisfying the inner man, we strolled into the lounge or writing-room, which we found most convenient and pleasant—writing material, newspapers and bills of concerts, plays, etc.; also, here I could enjoy my pull at the weed.  We were not late in retiring to rest; rest we could, but not sleep for a time; I thought, O! restless Paris!  The only time that is quiet from tram, ’bus and cab seems to be from about 1 a.m. to 3 a.m.; after this early hour, wagons begin to lumber past, farmers from the country, I think, with produce which must be in the market early.  We slept, however, a few hours, rising fairly early for dejeuner, we were able to enjoy a cup of coffee made in Paris; coffee here is perfect; roll and butter, fish, eggs, etc.  Breakfast over we engaged a cab, a taxi-cab, and we drove round some parts of this wonderful city; we went by some parts of the banks of the river Seine, and here there are literally miles of quays, and the river is spanned by fifteen bridges, some of them of great strength and beauty.

The Louvre was one of the places we visited.  No one would think of going to Paris without seeing this vast pile of buildings; no less than sixty acres, I learned, in the very heart of the city was taken up by this building.  It stands to-day as it has stood for more than an hundred years, with its grand facades, pavillions and colonnades, and its splendid halls, saloons and galleries, as a proud monument to the ancient Royalty of France.  It was the home of Henry III., till civil war drove him from his capital, and he perished at St. Cloud by the assassin’s knife.  Here for a time Henry of Navarre had his abode.  It is now a museum or a series of grand museums; miles of the most wonderful paintings, choice sculptures, Assyrian, Egyptian, Greek and Roman antiquities, bronzes, historic relics from far off lands, and from different races, engravings and models—indeed, it is a great storehouse of art.  During the war with Germany, the Communists set fire to one of the wings and the library of 90,000 volumes and many rare manuscripts were destroyed.

It is said that on the night of the 23rd of May, a troop of Germans had entered the city and made their way so far, they ordered the porter or door-keeper of the Louvre to pour petroleum into the different rooms, and on his refusal, they imprisoned him and his wife in his own lodge, and then at once set fire to the place.  Next day the French troops arrived in time to release him from his sad plight, and also to arrest the flames in their destructive work.

The Cathedral of Notre Dame, of course, came in for a visit.  It stands, we are told, on the site on which the Roman conqerors erected a temple to Jupiter.  This Cathedral is a marvel of architectural beauty.  As you gaze you wonder at the skill of the architect, and also of sculpture, for there are in marble and stone fanciful scenes from bible history portrayed—the Kings of Judah; a colossal image of the Virgin Mother; Adam and Eve.  There are many pointed arches and stained windows glistening in the sun’s rays.  Two massive towers rising to the height of 200 feet.  The interior is in keeping with the exterior, only, if possible, richer and finer; the length is about 400 feet, and the breadth about 150.  It has stood in its beauty on this spot during the last 600 years.

One of the Chapels of this Cathedral contains, they tell us, some wonderful relics.  For instance, “a part of the crown of thorns with which our Saviour was crowned in mockery”; also the sponge and winding sheet used at His death.  Kings and princes of the Roman Catholic persuasion have