incendiary form, we find only peacefulness and calm. The socialist and
red-revolutionary, in his Sunday's best, sits before his front door,
reading a newspaper, playing with his baby or chatting with a
neighbour. Pet dogs and cats sun themselves with a lazy, Sunday air,
girls and lovers flirt, children play, gossips tell each other the
news. It is difficult to believe that we are passing the stormiest
quarter of the stormiest city in France. All is as quiet as the
riverside scenes we have just left.

With this delightful recollection I close my latest--not, I trust,
last--French journey.

I took leave of my dear friend at Lyons, both of us hoping to breakfast
together next time, not on the banks of the Saone, but on the Eiffel
Tower, there to fete the glorious Revolution, in the words of our great
Fox: 'How much the greatest event that ever happened in the world, and
how much the best!'