Glories of Spain

re-In maiden meditation-M. Pascal is wise in his generation-The secrets of the Seine-Notre Dame-Ile St. Louis-A medi?val atmosphere-Victor Hugo-Ghosts of the H?tel Lambert-H. C. again-His little c

pleasure of a short yachting trip. As usual there were all sorts and conditions of men and women, and again the curious, the grotesque, the impossible predominated. They streamed across the new quay in a d

her query au pied de la lettre, and earnestly looked at the lady, who, in spite of flaxen wig, rouge, pencilled brows, was of the Past. All his intelligence in his eyes, he replied: "About the same age as the century, I should say, madame;" then marked her packages and turned to the next in waiting. Had t

through the broad thoroughfares, we felt she still holds her own. Nowhere such floods of light, turning night into day, making one blink like owls in the sunshine. Nowhere shops so resplendent that a Jew's ransom would not pur

Parisian hotels terribly in want of air. The manager received us with as much attention as though we had arriv

et corner sat two quiet people, evidently mother and daughter, since the one must have been twenty years ago what the other was now. They were English, as one saw and heard, for we were at the next table. No other country could produce th

and commanding, deigned to glance at the wine

t '87 St. Julien, M. Pasca

y knew, the Chateau

lous but yielding. "Then

nd confided our suspicions, adding, "You cannot compare the two wines." "Monsieur donc knows the St. Julien? Ah," with a keener glance, "I had not remarked. I ask a thous

ot accepted; and the Ch

. Paris had put up her shutters and toned down her illuminations

terary treasure makes its appearance. Perhaps he was a man who liked the tragic side of life-and where is it more suggested than on the banks of the Seine? Night after night its turbid waters close over the heads of the rashly despairing. T

all the beauty of Gothic refinement; all the delicate lacework

rfection? All the centuries that have since rolled on, changing and destroying much of its charm? The perils it went through and did not altogether escape in

human suffering and endurance, broken destinies. His face looks at you from every dark and vacant window in the neighbouring Ile St. Louis. The shadows of Notre Dame fall upon its medi?val roofs; the dark waters of the river wash their foundations, and sometimes flood them also. If they could only whisper their secrets of human sin and suffering, that great army of martyrs who have died, not in defence of the

osphere behind us as our driver pursued

nd fashion, wealth and intrigue, that turn the heaven-sent manna to ashes of the Dead Sea fruit. Presently he crossed a bridge and there was a flash of lamps upon the dark waters b

in good time, and had the place almost to ourselves. "Le train n'est pas encore fait, monsieur,

riage means martyrdom. We marked our seats, then walked up and down the

dred-and-one occasions rose up before us in which we had saved him from ladies with matrimony on the brain, from intrigues, from his susceptible self. Only a year ag

with the liberty of the subject. I will not be controlled. You

the other, as the saying runs. Silence

which said: Pour Fumeurs. Fortune seemed to favour his humour for we had seldom seen the announcement on a French carriage. Then he went on to the next compartment. Three young men had entered and were laughing, talkin

he spot, and without paying. I had such trouble to ram the plaques into the grooves that they will never come ou

ding on end, the pallor of death on our cheek. Appearances would h

and indignation; on ours, nervous terror. Then the door of the compartment was thrown o

ke, and treat with contempt the rules of our organisation department? For this, gentlemen," waxing wrath and perhaps overstating his case, "I could

troubled waters, the young m

nnot read; or you have dined too well. But if you have your senses about you and examine the plaque closely, you will see that it st

ng down the house and make the fortune of the piece. You ought to be grateful for this li

this instant and read for yourself." He grasped the arm of the young man. As he was strong and the youth weak, the result was

we want a quiet night's rest; we don't want to be disturbed by the gentle snoring of the fair sex. An enemy hath done this. Tenez, Monsieur the Inspector," going to the next carriage and reading the label: "look at that. There are the innocent conspirators calmly seated in the compartment. The ladies themselves have done this. I was wrong in saying it was an enemy, for are we not all frien

ried the outraged and perple

dressed the ladies severely, as became his office, but

that it is not convenable for members of your sex to deliberately co

r complexion. Monsieur the Inspector," shaking out their ruffled plumage, "this is an infamous accusation. We feel ourselves insulted. We shall appeal to the Chef de Gare. You had better at once say that we have done this thing ourselves, whilst the culprits are no doubt those t

yourselves. No one shall accuse me of dining too well with impunity; and no one, not even

efully alighted, assisted by the gallant but uncompromisi

young men who doubtless look upon it as a petite plaisanterie. But if there is law in the land they shall suffer for it. It is nothing more or less than an outrage to our feelings. In the me

eles is no doubt on the platform in disguise"-here we felt a nudge from H. C. and a whispered "Complimentary

men did likewise. The doors were closed. The inspector tried to remove the offending labels. They would not budge. He brought all his strength to bear upon them, but they were fixed as the stars in their course. If Mephistophe

led For Smokers, and the three young men had to themselves the carriage Pour Dames Seules. They must have been laughing immoderately, for the inspector shook his fist as they slowly rolled away; and the shake said as plainly as though we h

y, then went out. All the old familiar landmarks were invisible, and whe

rs, the architectural wonders of Loches-home of the Plantagenets-its towers and churches visible even under the stars; and beyond Nantes, the gentle splendours of La Vendée. Porters in the darkness of night shouted "Orléans!" and we felt in the very garden of France, where nature i

nd wondered how his small body bore the weight of its majestic name. But the wind is tempered to the shorn lamb and the back is fitted to the burden. This time there was no comte and no mist. We had watched the dawn break

registered to Irun instead of Portbou. Steaming into the crazy old station, we found out the station-master, and explained the difficulty. He was

u found it out in time. After Bordeaux it would have been too

e ticket, bade him search the luggage-v

of inevitable exceptions, and because we stick to too much red tape, an

philosopher, and fortunat

and we had the satisfaction of thanking M. le Chef for sparing us an awkward dilemma. "Monsieur," he re

the vineyards the deep purple leaves still lingered upon the branches. White farmhouses, with their green shutters, red-tiled roofs, strings of yellow Indian maize, heaps of pumpkins and cantaloupe melons, stood out in striking contrast with the landscape. Many a vine-laden porch threw its lights

ing our direction, and going east instead of westward. Last year Irun and St. Sebastian; now Gerona