ard the "mammoth man" murmur:

_"Sleep, that knits up the raveled sleeve of care,
The death of each day's life, sore labor's bath,
Balm of hurt minds, great nature's second course,
Chief nourisher in life's feast!"_

Jodelle, Lariney, Corneille, Moliere, Racine, La Fontaine, Rousseau,
Voltaire, Balzac, or even Hugo, never uttered such masterly philosophy.

After partaking of a French breakfast, smothered with herbs and mystery, we
hired a fancy phaeton and voluble driver to whirr us around the principal
streets, parks and buildings of the rushing, brilliant city, everything
moving as if the devil were out with a search warrant for some of the stray
citizens of his imperial dominions.

The driver spoke English very well, and with a telephone voice, surcharged
with monkey gestures, we listened to and saw the history of Paris from the
advent of Caesar, Clovis, Charlemagne to Louis and Henry. A city directory
would have been a surplusage, and we flattered the "garcon" by seeming to
believe everything he said, exclaiming "Oh my!" "Do tell!" "Gee whizz!"
"Did you ever!" "Wonderful!" and "Never saw the like!"

As our mentor and nestor pulled up at noted wine cafes to water his horse,
we contributed to his own irrigation and our champagne thirst. Be good to
yourself.

It was sundown when we nestled in the Hotel Reims, but had been richly
repaid in our visit to the king's palace, the great Louvre, St. Denis,
Notre Dame and the great cathedrals, picture galleries, cemeteries and
monuments that decorated imperial Paris.

The evening before we left Paris we accepted the invitation of Garnier to
visit the Latin Quarter. The playwright did not know William or myself,
except as young English lords--"Buckingham" and "Bacon," traveling for
information and pleasure, sowing "wild," financial "oats" with the
liberality of princes.

A well dressed, polite man, with lots of money, and a "spender" from "way
back" is a welcome guest in home, church and state; and when it comes to
the "ladies," he is, of course, "a jewel," "a trump" and "darling." They
know a "soft snap" when they see it.

Some of us have been there.

While basking under the light of flashing eyes and sparkling wine at the
Royal Cafe, surrounded by a dozen of the artistic "friends" of the "toast
of the town," Garnier said he noticed us in the front bench the night
before, and knowing us to be Englishmen, was desirous to know how his play,
depicting t