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[No title]


Rolophernes a'i Loyn Byw.…

Marwolaetb Mrs Sarah Harries,…

Yes, if You Please.

Y Medelwr.

Yr Acgel a'r Baban.


Beddargraff Gurnos. '" ?

Ti Elli fod yn ijymro.

Fy Ma

Cyfieithiad o'r Emyn:


[No title]




IMPRESSIONS OF PARIS. Pleasures Crammed into a Week of Hustling Sight-Seeing. (By R. W. TROWSDALE.) If I were asked to suggest a hort holiday for a young man possessed of a desire to see something of the world, something, I mean, more than the daily routine of a fashionable or popular seaside resort; if he would broaden his views of life and humanity in general—I would indicate a holiday on the lines I myself undertook in the fall of the year. Many there are of my acquaintance who would be horri- fied, or pretend to be horrified, at the hint even of a week in the capital of France, and of contemplating Continental existence through the mirror of Parisian life. Fortunately there are others who, yearning for that education which travel alone can bring, eagerly avail themselves of the advantages which modern facilities and organised tours have of late years placed within their reach. To those sympathetic readers, and more especially those to whom such a holiday is as yet only a pleasant anticipation (for we of the premier county are decidedly ultra-Conservative), I would address myself, in the hope that this necessarily curtailed and entirely inadequate record may at a future time be of some slight assistance to them. THE ADVANTAGES OF ORGANISED TOURS. My holiday was taken under the auspices of the Polytechnic Touring Association, an or- ganisation world-famous for its social and edu- cational work among the young men and women of the metropolis. To its excellent ar- rangements and the courtesy of its omcials— with especial reference to Mr. Jefferys, Paris representative—I take this opportunity of pay- ing tribute. As each party is personally con- ducted from London, the usual worry attendant on travelling in a strange country is removed. Thanks to the perfect arrangements, a lack of knowledge of the language is no deterrent to your pleasure. Even if you make the joui-ney alone, as I did, there is no reason why you should hold aloof from the spirit of good- fellowship which animates the party. Every- body is on holiday bent, and staid convention offers no bar to tne creation of new friends. But the Polytechnic, in its triple capacity of guide, counsellor, and friend, is a hustling foster-parent. You whisked from cue spot to another with amazing rapidity—for an at tempt to see Paris in a week is like "doing" London in day—and er? you say good-bye to your new-found friends you are as much a "hustler" as the most American of the Yankees of your party. Leaving London in the midst of its ceaseless bustle, you are whirled at express speed to the furthest limit of old England, and embark at Newhaven for Dieppe. The shorter sea passage (via Dover) can be undertaken for a small fee. There is something exhilarating in a voyage by night through strange waters. Many of our gallant company, I fancy, with the scent of the sea air in their nostrils, threw out their chests and inwardly prided themselves on their kinship to the country which laid claim to being mistress of the That exultation. alas! was but short-lived. It preceded a timid sensation which later developed into indis- position of a. serious nature. Then, oblivion! ON FOREIGN SOIL. The scream of the siren awakened us later to a sense of our shame. Dejectedly, though with revived hope at the sight of land, we passed up the gangway in the early dawn into the pre- sence of the Customs omcers, there to prove with open bags and portmanteaux that we had nothing "to declare." Then into the buffet for "cafe eomplet," the national breakfast. So, fortined once more. we took our seats in the incongruous-looking railway carriages. How well we got to know the peculiarities of the train ere we alighted. At the beginning it wasn't so bad, but nearing Paris its "three bumps and a stop" (as one fellow-traveller naively put it) was indubitably impressed upon us. Paris at last! Paris, the city of life and gaiety, palaces and cafes, luxury and poverty, of monuments and treasures which justify its claim to be the first city of the world. Paris, visions of whose decadent glories are handed down in each stately avenue and architectural masterpiece; where at every turn you are con- fronted with reminders of the terrible Paris of the Commune and Revolution. Impressed you must be, both by the inexhaustible charm of the Paris of the present and the Paris of the past. At the Gare St. Lazare we are met by guides and conveyances, and in the interval of wait- ing for the laggards we get our first impression of Parisian everyday life. Not, mark you, that life of gaiety and freedom which has its coun- terpart in no other city in the world; but we caught a glimpse of something similar to a London crowd going forth to its daily labour. One thing that took our immediate fancy was the picturesque costume of the taximeter cab- drivers. Imagine a London cabby attired in a plum coloured livery, supplemented by an eighteenth century headpiece of lacquered tin. It was also our good fortune, later on, to see a lady "cocher"—a recent and novel introduction. Saturday, the day of our arrival, and the fol- lowing day were free from arranged excursions, hence on those days we could follow the dic- tates of our own humour. THE INNOCENTS ABROAD. There is a type of English tourist, fortunately not often met with, who must needs carry with him wherever he goes a spirit of childish thoughtlessness and folly which, in addition to making him the object of general derision, often lands him in serious trouble and even personal danger. The following is a case in point, and proves to what an extent of idiocy even Englishmen may attain. A party of trippers from this side of the Channel were seated in a Paris cafe enjoying the vintage of France, and showed both by action and speech that they thought the Britisher a very superior person indeed, and quite above the ordinary mortaL A \ciy Jiue sentiment, no doubt, taken in moder2ion. Z:ut when it comes to showing the colour of English gold to all and sundry (and there are some queer customers lolling about in French cafes), and rapturously and publicly kissing the Royal image engraved thereon, then it is high time to cut short such tom-foolery. An Englishman and patron of the establishment chanced to stroll in, and his attention was drawn to the noisy crew by the waitress, who thought he might be interested in a group of his own countrymen. He was I just the friend they needed, for he read them a nice little homily on common-sense and the value of discretion in a strange country. THE CHARM OF THE BOULEVARDS. The conclusion of breakfast at the Rue du Colisee saw a small party of us making the delightful river trip to St. Cloud, more famous to most Englishmen, I fear, for its racecourse, than because of its important association with the of France and her emperors. Here it was that the Franco-Prussian war treaty was signed; here also, during the siege of Paris in 1870, the palace was destroyed, either by the Germans, or (owing to a misunderstanding) by the French themselves. St. Cloud itself is delightful. Natural beauty is supplemented by the genius of man. My friend, a keen amateur gardener, fairly revelled in the well- planned beds and terraces of noral wealth which surround the site of the destroyed palace. I no less enjoyed ,the walk through the splendid park, or was one whit the less fascinated by the spell which the whole scene laid upon us. After dinner we go boulevarding—surely the best and cheapest way of enjoying oneself dur- ing the long summer evenings. That is, we sit in one of the "al fresco" cafes and there, sip- ping coffee such as only the French can make, we view the ever-changing scene and never end- ing procession which passes, kaleidoscopieally, before our eyes. In all the world you can never see such a HUMAN, cosmopolitan crowd as that which lends itself to your gaze, say in the Boulevard des Italiens. WHERE GAIETY RUNS RIOT. There are other ways of spending Saturday night in Paris. You can join in the mad riot of the pleasures of Montmartre—at the Bal Tabarin, for instance, where every Saturday evening a scene of unrivalled excitement holds sway—excitement at once delirioua and intoxi- cating. To the Bal Tabarin, the Abbaye The- leme, or the Restaurant de Rabelais, a large proportion of moneyed visitors find their way. Each rendezvous, spite of certain distinguish- ing features, is in one sense the same; every- where the utmost licence prevails. You may do as you like, for certainly nobody interferes with your method of enjoyment There are other places of entertainment again, near to and yet distant from the open life of Paris. Beneath the pavement over which you step are little-knQVfD haunts where wise meI4 like the angels, fear to tread. But knowledge of these night resorts only comes with a prolonged stay in the city, and an appetite for scenes re- volting to sober-minded men. We choose the boulevards, and are content. The glorious weather we left in England still pursues us, and Sunday morning finds Paris the beautiful bathed in sunshine. Sunshine is everywhere; it kisses the tiny wavelets of the Seine as they race towards the sea, it Roods the churches of the city, and reveals their interior beauty, and it transforms the glided dome of the Church of the Invalidea into a shimmering sea of liquid gold. Into the sun- shine we go, and, too late to attend the Eng- lish services (of which there are several), we wonder down to the Mecca of religious France— the Cathedral of Notre Dame. Architecturally and historically interesting, this noble edifice is so unique and imposing in its grandeur that a casual survey fails to aatisfy the student; one could not exhaust its exquisite beauty in a month of continuous inspection. Viewed in brilliant sunshine the magnificent rose win- dow, 44ft. in diameter, cannot fail to arrest the eye. The two towers are 260 feet high, but the spires have never been added. Following lunch, I make a tour of inspec- tion with a Parisian friend through the famous Bois de Boulogne. First of all, however, we mount the steps of the Arc de Triomphe de 1'Etoile—the greatest triumphal arch in the world. The arch took 32 years to build, and on it are inscribed the names of 142 battles, and 656 officers. It witnessed a different sort of triumph in 1871, when 40,000 Germans, headed by their bands, marched under it into the city. From its summit a magnificent view of the principal landmarks of the city is ob- tainable. The open place in which the arch stands is rightly named the Place de 1'Etoile (the Star), for it is the pivot, so to speak, of tv/elve of the finest avenues in Europe—it is. in fact, the centre of modern Paris. Strange, is it not, that France should be indebted for the laying out of the modern portion of its capital to a German engineer—Baron Hauss- mann, the right-hand man of Napoleon III. His reward, a statue, is a vary humble tribute to his great work. THE CONTINENTAL SUNDAY. Even as I gaze upon the scene beneath— where human beings seem like pigmies, and the horses well-grown dogs—I am impressed by the extraordinary life and bustle of Paria on the Sabbath. The general exodus from town is explained by the fact that Paris is off to the races—all Parisians who can afford it go to the races. The residue nock to the "Bois," and promenade therein. Scores of people nhut up their houses on Sunday and spend the entire day in the park. Let us join them. Here you can see Paris at play. Bearded men indulge in pastimes which English schoolboys would scorn; young men and women on the greensward are reaping huge delight from a Continental version of "kiss in the ring." But above all and outstanding in popularity is "Diabolo." France, from M. Ie President downwards, playa Diabulo; and the proficiency attained by youthful exponents of the game of "the devil between two sticks" is astonish- ing. Yet in their way they all seem to be en- joying themselves, and after all, enjoyment k, the spice of life. Let me dedicate a few words to the persons e! of our party. We are truly a cosmopolitan crowd. The number of tourists coUected under the roof of our "pension" totals 50, and among them are to be found representatives of al- most every British dominion over the sea. Australia, New Zealand, and Canada 1,;we sent strong contingents, while from ever corner of the British Isles come tourists to I dlS won- derful city. It ia a jolly crowd, for after the first British coldness wears off, you begin to know and appreciate your fellow travellers. In the evening moat of us find our way to an open-air concert in the lovely Tuileries Gardens to hear Gounod's "Mireille." In these gardens, as in almost every open space in Paris, valu- able statuary lavishly arranged impresses yet another feature inseparable from this world- centre of art. Truly the French are slaves to architecture and art. If the accumulated col- lections are now a national asset, they must have once been bought at heavy cost, and it is questionable whether it was really worth j it. Another thing that struck our English taste as peculiar was the "military slouch." The French conscript slouches along with thumbs tucked into the pockets of his capacious trou- sers, utterly blind to the fact that smartness should be synonymous with military bearing. Yet at Casa Blanca the French troops have maintained their great reputation for bravery. Another lesson our Gallic cousins might take from us is the treatment of dumb animals. The brutality of many of the taxi-drivers to their dumb servants was pitiful, but no one in authority seemed to care. Reckless driving is another characteristic of the Parisian "cabby." WE BEGIN SIGHT SEEING IN EARNEST. Monday saw the real beginning of our "con- ducted" tour, for up to this point we had wan- dered aimlessly around, forming from personal observation our ideas on the manners and habits of the people. After an early breakfast we climb aboard our well-horsed conveyance as the first preliminary to the drive through ,Paris, We drive up the Champs Elysees past the Arc de Triomphe, and turn into the beau- tiful Pare Monceau, one of the most restful and sweetest spots in all the city. The next item of interest—and it has a special appeal to all Englishmen—is a statue to the Stratford bard, William Shakespeare. Each object of in- terest is pointed out by our guide, well versed in the historical and other aspects of monu- .ment and building, and frequent halts are called that we may inspect them more closely. In succession we pass the Church of St. Augustin, the Madeleine (whose interior wit- nessed terrible scenes in the Communist troubles of 1871), the Vendome Column, the Rue de la. Paix (famoua the world over for its jewellers' shops and fashionable dressmaking establishments, and of which cynica say that married men will find it more economical to drive than walk through this street with their wives). Then to the Opera House, through the Grand Boulevards, and eventually to the notor- ious Buttes Chaumont. This natural park was formerly over-run by criminala of the worst type who, occupying long-disused quarries, de- fied the united force of the law. The police wer;) altogether unable to cope with the evil, and the Government had to step in and trans- form these horrible Buttes. Here also were witnessed terrible scenes of carnage during the blood-stained months of 1871. The neighbour- hood is atill the haunt of that latter-day pro- duct of vice and crime, the "Apache," or Paris hooligan, and it ia estimated that even now mur- ders in this locality average nearly a score a week. One had actualy taken place the night preced- ing our visit to this gruesome spot. Yet they choose it to take a photograph of the party! THE MODERN PRODUCT OF VICE. We in England have little conception of the continual menace which threatens peaceable citizens in France owing to these notorious characters. Their audacity knows no limit, and the percentage of crime in Paris directly attri- butable to the Apache bands and individuals is fully one-half. The question has already be- come a national one, and the Government in- tend creating a series of stations along the forti-' ficationa of Paris (i.e., the walls of Paris) in order to co-operate with the police m the eradi- cation of the scourge. From the Buttes we obtain a better view of the Church of the Sacred Heart, a marvellous structure which was commenced 57 years ago, and is not yet completed. The Pere Laehaise cemetery, which we next visit, has, among its 20,000 monuments, one "To the Dead," which bears the reputation of ranking next to the Holy Sepulchre in the number of its visi- tors. It was in this cemetery that the horrors of the Commune reached their limit. Here the Communists made a. great stand, but, en- trapped and outnumbered, they were shot down in droves. Many removed the stones from the vaults and hid therein, but theirs was a frightful end, for the soldiers found out their hiding places—and replaced the stones! (To be Concluded.)