Dessert.
Petites Fraises.

The cold trout was excellent, and the wine was De St-Marceaux '89.

The Alcazar has a restaurant somewhat similar to that of the
Ambassadeurs.

Chevillard's, at the Rond Point des Champs Elysees, is not an
out-of-doors restaurant, but it is a favourite place to breakfast at on
the way out to the races. The cooking is good. Sometimes the restaurant
is crowded, and it is as well to secure a table in advance.

There are half-a-dozen cafes, farms where milk is sold, and other
refreshment places in the Bois; but the two restaurants which the
travelling gourmet is likely to dine at are the Pavillion d'Armenonville
and the Chateau de Madrid. The first is very "smart," and the glass
shelter which runs round the little house is filled on a summer night
with men, all in dress-clothes, and ladies in flowered or feathered
hats. The world and the half-world dine at adjacent tables, and neither
section of Paris objects. The tables are decorated with flowers, and two
bands, which play alternately, make music so softly that it does not
interfere with conversation. The cooking is good, and the prices are
rather high. There are tables under the trees surrounding the building,
and some people dine at these; but "all Paris" seems to prefer to be
squeezed into the least possible space under the glass verandah.

At the Chateau de Madrid the tables are set under the trees in the
courtyard of the building, and the effect of the dimly seen buildings,
the dark foliage, and the lights is very striking. The Madrid has always
been an expensive place to dine at, but its reputation for cookery is
good. Last year I dined at the Chateau one hot summer's night and found
there M. Aubanel, who had left his little hotel at Monte Carlo, during
the great heats, to take temporary command at the Madrid, striving to
serve a great crowd of diners with an insufficient staff of waiters. I
trust that the proprietors have made better arrangements since to meet
any sudden inrush of guests. The Madrid has a capital cellar of wine.

On a race-morning I have eaten a little breakfast, well enough served,
at the restaurant of the Cafe de la Cascade.

Supping-Places

The fickle Parisian crowd changes its supping-places without any
apparent cause. A few hundred francs spent in gilding a ceiling, a
quarrel between two damsels in gigantic hats as to which of them ordered
a particular table to be reserved, and the