LITMIR.BIZ

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built of solid masonry.  Dieppe seems to have an old castle, quite out-of-date, as a defence; there is also a citadel of modern construction; a small light-house, about 40-feet high, stands by the entrance of the town.  We learned that a large number of French people come to Dieppe for the summer and autumn holidays.  There are some works for the labouring classes, such as: ivory works, one of the most famous in Europe; also there are some works in horn, in bone, some in lace, some sugar refineries, a little ship-building, and the fishing industry is fairly prominent; a good supply of herring and mackerel is sent daily to Paris; also there are extensive oyster beds, which are a source of profit to the inhabitants.  We boarded the train about 4 o’clock p.m., and leaving Dieppe and the sea behind us, we steamed away at a rapid rate towards Paris.  We passed some lovely country, rich in fruit and foliage; some most beautiful Chalets, with grounds like fairyland; also, we saw the working-class home, apparently very poor, no windows and little furniture; they seem to live out of doors, and eat very much fruit and vegetables; they appear, however, healthy and strong.  We saw some one or two cemeteries, and so near we could see very strange archways of flowers or wood, or marble over the graves, and very large crucifix’s.

      We had left our new found friends at Dieppe, so now we were more alone to enjoy each others company, and to speak of the scenery and places as we passed them.  In about an hour-and-an-half we reached Rouen.  A very large and important railway station.  Here we stayed a little while, and we could see the town was large and important.  It was formerly the capital of the province of Normandy.  It is one of the best commercial centres in France.  It has been called the Manchester of France on account of its great cotton manufactories, producing goods to the value of 80,000,000 francs annually.  It has also manufactories of hosiery, silk and wool fabrics, hardware and machinery.  It is an important sea-port, as it has a harbour that can receive steamers of 600 tons.  It has a population of about 150,000.  The Cathedral of Notre Dame, built between 1207 and 1210, is a fine Gothic building.  The spire is nearly 500 feet high.  In this old Cathedral rests the remains of Rollo, first Duke of Normandy, and his son William.

      M. B. Edwards, in a poem, says of this old-world Cathedral:—

      “The isles grow dim, and as by winding ways,

         Eager I climb St. Onen’s giddy height,

      The silver censers vanish from my gaze

         As shooting stars upon a dusky night

      I hear the chanting vespers at my feet

      Like wordless water, music fair and sweet.

      “On priest and acolyte and people falls,

         From western window many a sapphire ray;

      The sculptured knights within the niched walls

         Look not more mute and marble-like than they,

      Living and dead with fingers clasped seem praying

      God and the angels hear what they are saying.

      “The city gleams with lights that come and go,

         The hills 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

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