For slender purses there are cheap boats, cheap railways, and the
omnibus. It does one's heart good to see scores of family parties today
availing themselves of the superb weather and taking a last picnic.
In every green, shady nook we see a merry group squatted on the ground,
relishing their cold patties, fruit and wine, as they can only be
relished out of doors. The babies, nursemaids, and pet dogs are there.
Breakfast over, the holiday-makers amuse themselves, grandparents and
bantlings, with fishing for minnows in the clear waters.

How merry are all! How all too swiftly fleet the bright hours!

In the spacious, terraced garden of the restaurant we find dozens of
tables spread for richer folk. We prefer the cool, quiet dining-room,
which we have to ourselves, after all. The food is not of the choicest,
the wine compels criticism between each course, we have to wait long
enough for the making of an ordinary meal; but French gaiety and good-
nature overlook these drawbacks, and the charming view of the river and
its wooded banks, the freshness of the air, the atmosphere of gala and
relaxation, make up for everything; the bill is cheerfully paid, and
all but the separate items of the day's enjoyment forgotten.

Perhaps the charm of a French picnic is enhanced by the fact that it is
never made too long. Our neighbours do not make what is called 'a day
of it,' but wisely prefer to take their pleasure as they do their
champagne--in moderation. We drive home, feeling fresh and alert as
when we set out.

Everyone is abroad. As we pass through the workman's suburb, the ultra-
socialist, ultra-revolutionary quarter of the city, in which political
passions have so often raged hotly, and popular feeling has taken