and young girls, in whom was left no youth, for in truth their hard lives
had served to age them before their time. With thin, white hands they
stretched out their offerings of flowers to sell the passer-by--bright
spring flowers--crocuses, daffodils and violets, whose freshness and
purity served only to enhance the miserable aspect of their vendors.
In verity it was a scene of velvet and rags, satin and sackcloth, riches
and poverty: Lazarus looking longingly at Dives, and Dives going on his
way unheeding.

At the marble arch entrance to the Park there stood this afternoon a
tall, rather melancholy looking man, dressed in deep mourning. He was
watching, with apparently little interest, the busy throng about them.
From time to time he lifted his hat in a mechanical manner as he
recognized some acquaintance, but there was nothing enthusiastic in his
greetings. He had been standing at the entrance for about half-an-hour,
when he was roused from his state of abstraction by a tremendous slap on
the back, and a sturdy voice, which said:

"Hello! McAllister, old boy, how are you? Why are you star-gazing here?
Wake up, old boy, wake up!"

"Oh! Jack, how are you?" said McAllister, for he it was, turning round
sharply. "I'm glad to see you. I thought you were in France."

"Well, so I was, but the fellow I went with couldn't speak a word of
French, and you know I can't. We started on this walking tour through the
Pyrenees, where no English is spoken. The consequence was that we were
nearly starved--couldn't make the people understand. I got tired of
making signs, as if I were a deaf mute, so I just turned back and came
home, and here I am."