ng with Basel and Marseilles and ending with Frankfurt, Berlin
and Paris. Wherever they were their house was a very home--a kind of
Yankee shrine--of visiting Americans and militant Americanism.

Years before he was made consul general--in point of fact when he was
plain consul at Marseilles--he ran over to Paris for a lark. One day he
said to me, "A rich old hayseed uncle of mine has come to town. He has
money to burn and he wants to meet you. I have arranged for us to dine
with him at the Anglaise to-night and we are to order the dinner--carte
blanche." The rich old uncle to whom I was presented did not have
the appearance of a hayseed. On the contrary he was a most
distinguished-looking old gentleman. The dinner we ordered was
"stunning"--especially the wines. When the bill was presented our
host scanned it carefully, scrutinizing each item and making his own
addition, altogether "like a thoroughbred." Frank and I watched him not
without a bit of anxiety mixed with contrition. When he had paid the
score he said with a smile: "That was rather a steep bill, but we have
had rather a good dinner, and now, if you boys know of as good a dance
hall we'll go there and I'll buy the outfit."

II

First and last I have lived much in the erstwhile gay capital of France.
It was gayest when the Duke de Morny flourished as King of the Bourse.
He was reputed the Emperor's natural half-brother. The breakdown of the
Mexican adventure, which was mostly his, contributed not a little to the
final Napoleonic fall. He died of dissipation and disappointment, and
under the pseudonym of the Duke de Morra, Daudet celebrated him in "The
Nabob."

De Morny did not live to see the tumble of the house of cards he had
built. Next after I saw Paris it was a pitiful wreck indeed; the Hotel
de Ville and the Tuileries in flames; the Column gone from the Place
Vendome; but later the rise of the Third Republic saw the revival of the
unquenchable spirit of the irrepressible French.

Nevertheless I should scarcely be taken for a Parisian. Once, when
wandering aimlessly, as one so often does through the Paris streets,
one of the touts hanging round the Cafe de la Paix to catch the unwary
stranger being a little more importunate than usual, I ordered him to go
about his business.

"This is my business," he impudently answered.

"Get away, I tell you!" I thundered, "I am a Parisian myself!"

He drew a little out of reach of the umbrella I held i