tle valley,
Until the engine wheels turn slow,
And stop at length to dally

For dinner-time full half-an-hour
Within a crowded station,
While hungry little mouths devour
The tempting cold collation

Spread in the dining-room at hand;
And then, when that is finished,
The children sally in a band,
With appetites diminished,

To look at all the folk they meet,--
The porters in blue blouses,
The white-robed priests, the nuns so neat,
The farmers and their spouses,

And all the other folk that make
A crowd in France amusing:--
Till hark! their places all must take,
Without a minute losing.

The engine puffs--away they fly,
And soon leave all behind them;
Now turn the page, and you and I
In Paris safe will find them.

[Illustration]

[Illustration]

Paris, gay Paris! so bright and so fair,
Your sun is all smiles, and there's mirth in your air.

The children, though tired with their travelling, found
That the first night in Paris one's sleep is not sound,
For the hum of the streets makes one dream all the night
Of the wonderful sights that will come with the light.

The morning was fine, and--breakfast despatched--
They soon made their way to the Gardens attached
To the old Royal Palace, and there met a throng
Of French children, and joined in their games before long.

One boy lent his hoop, and gave Bertie a bun.
And--talking quite fast--seemed to think it great fun
With nice English girls like our Nellie to play,
Though not understanding a word she might say.

On leaving the Gardens, the party were seated
Outside of a _cafe_, and there Papa treated
Them all to fine ices and chocolate too;
They could hardly tell which was the nicer--could you?

Paris, gay Paris,
So bright and so fair!
Your sun is all smiles,
And there's mirth in your air!

[Illustration]

IN THE TUILERIES GARDENS.

In the Tuileries gardens, each afternoon,
A little old man comes walking along:
Now watch what happens! for just as soon
As they see him, the birds begin their song,
And flutter about his hands and head,
And perch on his shoulder quite at their ease,
For he fills his pockets with crumbs of bread
To feed his friends who live in the trees,
And well they know he loves them so
That into his pockets they sometimes go.

But hark to what's going on over there!
'Tis surely a Punc