reasures. Did our friend go there?
I know there are places where for little money the symphonies of
Beethoven and other great masters may be and are enjoyed by thousands
every Sunday. Did our friend go there? Within easy reach of the people
are such places as the Bois de Boulogne, the Garden of Acclimation,
where for fifty centimes a delightful day may be spent among the lawns
and flower-beds of that Parisian "Zoo." Its goat cars, ostrich cars, its
camel and elephant drives make it a paradise for children, and one might
see whole families there on Sunday afternoons in the summer, the parents
refreshing their bodies with this contact with nature and their hearts
with the sight of the children's glee. Did our friend go there? We even
have churches in Paris, churches that are crammed from six o'clock in
the morning till one in the afternoon with worshipers who go on their
knees to God. Now, did our friend go to church on that Sunday? Well,
where did he go? I am quitting Whitewater to-morrow, and I leave it to
his townspeople to investigate the matter. When I first visited New
York, stories were told me of strange things to be seen there even on a
Sunday. Who doubts, I repeat, that every great city has its black spots?
I had no desire to see those of New York, there was so much that was
better worth my time and attention. If our friend, our observing friend,
would only have done in Paris as I did in New York, he would have seen
very little low immorality."

The little encounter at Whitewater was only one more illustration of the
strange fact that the Anglo-Saxon, who is so good in his own country, so
constant in his attendance at church, is seldom to be seen in a sacred
edifice abroad, unless, indeed, he has been led there by Baedeker.

And last night, at Whitewater, I went to bed pleased with myself, like a
man who has fought for his country.

* * * * *

When I am in France, I often bore my friends with advice, and find, as
usual, that advice is a luxurious gift thoroughly enjoyed by the one who
gives it.

"You don't know how to do these things," I say to them; "in England or
in America, they are much more intelligent; they do like this and like
that." And my friends generally advise me to return to England or
America, where things are so beautifully managed.

But, when I am out of France, the old Frenchman is all there, and if you
pitch into my mother country, I stand up ready to fight