seductive, ever caressing! City of a thousand political
convulsions, city of a million crimes--her streets have run with
human blood, horrors unspeakable have stained her history, civil
strife has scarred her monuments, the German conqueror insolently
has bivouaced within her walls. Yet, like a virgin undefiled, she
shows no sign of storm and stress, she offers her dimpled cheek to
the rising sun, and when fall the shadows of night and a billion
electric bulbs flash in the siren's crown, her resplendent,
matchless beauty dazzles the world!

As the supreme reward of virtue, the good American is promised a
visit to Paris when he dies. Those, however, of our sagacious
fellow countrymen who can afford to make the trip, usually manage
to see Lutetia before crossing the river Styx. Most Americans like
Paris--some like it so well that they have made it their permanent
home--although it must be added that in their admiration they
rarely include the Frenchman. For that matter, we are not as a
nation particularly fond of any foreigner, largely because we do
not understand him, while the foreigner for his part is quite
willing to return the compliment. He gives the Yankee credit for
commercial smartness, which has built up America's great material
prosperity; but he has the utmost contempt for our acquaintance
with art, and no profound respect for us as scientists.

Is it not indeed fortunate that every nation finds itself superior
to its neighbour? If this were not so each would be jealous of the
other, and would cry with envy like a spoiled child who cannot
have the moon to play with. Happily, therefore, for the harmony of
the world, each nation cordially detests the other and the much
exploited "brotherhood of man" is only a figure of speech. The