altered. In this square was the hotel where nearly all the royal personages who visited the city stopped, but it looked, to the children, rather dull. There were also many Government offices, with, now and then, a flag flying out of window, and always a sentry walking before the door, or standing in his box. A club was there too, with some smart broughams waiting in front of it; a good many private residences, and at one corner the side of the first shop in the street they would reach shortly. All the houses were very white, tall, and regular. Great-heart cautioned the children to be careful how they crossed these French streets, for not only was the order of driving changed from left to right, but the coachmen were admitted to be the worst in the world; moreover they would always, when opportunity offered, make straight at you. These remarks received forcible illustration soon, as they were very nearly being run down by a cabman exactly in the way Great-heart had said one of them would. But this one was polite enough to announce his intention by a peculiar whooping sound, so they just escaped in time. Then Great-heart lifted the little ones on to the opposite pavement.

The characteristic of the broad street they now stood in was its magnificent shops for the sale of precious stones, yet, oddly enough, nestling close to

their aristocratic neighbours were some quite poor ones, where common articles of daily consumption were sold in plenty. In them tea and candles were treated quite as curiosities. There was even a place for the sale of wines and spirits, nothing more or less than a dram shop, next to a renowned jeweller's. How gloriously those gems sparkled in the sun, as they lay there in their velvet cases, or stretched out alluringly on trays of the same material. The little ones were delighted with the show, with all those glittering diamonds, rubies, and emeralds, set in their rings, bracelets, or quivering on the slender stems of aigrettes. But Great-heart gazed into those windows with sadness, as he thought of the needless extravagances those precious stones led to, of the vanity they encouraged, the ruin they brought about. He sighed deeply, and addressed his little charges thus:

"Do not be misled, darlings, by what you see. Lovely to the eye all these things are indeed, rare and beautiful specimens of nature and art; yet, when that is said, of what uselessness! To whom can the possession of such gems bring aught but a passing pleasure, kindle more than an unwelcome vanity? Think of all the terrible waste over these baubles. Consider how much of relief and comfort might the gold expended in their purchase bring to

the poor and suffering. How that money laid out in charity for others would fill the heart of those who gave with a lasting happiness, far, far beyond that of the mere transient worldliness the possession of these things brings into it."

The children pondered earnestly over what Greatheart said to them. Dot could only lay it all to heart, but could not shape her thoughts into words. After a while, Trixie said,—

"You would not mean that to buy these jewels is altogether wrong?"

The man answered, as he stroked the child's glossy curls,

"In moderation, and of the less priceless kinds, indeed no, Trixie. What I condemn is the wanton needless extravagance in their purchase, where they are bought but to deck the human form in envy or for show."

He led the children on, up to a great open space, where many noble streets met and parted, where stood also a magnificent building dedicated to the most soothing of all arts, music; truly a grand temple, where the marble of pillar and statue vied in splendour with stone and giltwork, on whose sides rested, with outstretched wings, two golden angels, shining out in the afternoon sun, the summit whereof was crowned by a gilded dome.

They all gazed in admiration at that place.

Right and left were those boulevards they had walked out to look at stretching far away on both sides, filled with busy crowds in roadway and on pavement, lined by those trees which, moistened by the recent rain, looked so green and pleasant to the eye. Many a bright awning hung out from the gay cafés, which seemed countless. Thousands of people were seated under them at the little tables, drinking, smoking, laughing, apparently free from all care, with but one object-the enjoyment of the present, with no one thought for past or future. From within came the clinking of dominoes on the marble tables, the loud voices of the visitors, and the shrill cries of the waiters, as they hurried hither and thither. But in that fine summer weather there were many more people outside than within those cafés. The three turned to the left and walked along, to find themselves soon in front of one of the great churches of the city, grand in its façade of noble pillars and steps. Before it stretched a broad street, with a view right over the water, the eye meeting in its passage an obelisk, and many fountains that were sending up their sprays to sparkle in the sunshine. They traversed this street, and came at length to a place Great-heart said he felt sure the children would be delighted with, and, indeed, they were. The name really meant "fields,"

but it was a misnomer, for it was nothing more nor less than a superb avenue of trees and gardens, broken at times by large open spaces, with more fountains throwing their jets of spray upwards. How charmingly green and fresh everything looked, too! The place seemed provided with all things to make life pleasant: charming rural cafés dotted here and there for the elders, every conceivable amusement for the little ones, who romped about with their chattering nurses; whirligigs, where not only babies, but quite grown-up people, of both sexes, rode round and round on horses, dragons, or stags, to the tune of an organ, turned by a man in the middle, and at each round plunged a skewer, with which all were armed, at iron rings. They were either successful in bearing these trophies off with them, or missed their shots altogether. It was a very exciting pastime, and the riders were encouraged to fresh exertions by the man who stood on the rostrum and supplied the machine with fresh rings, whenever it wanted them. Everybody was most merry and lighthearted. Surely there could be no such thing as care or sorrow in the city the children visited! Then there were small open-air theatres, where very elaborate entertainments were given, with reserved seats at ten centimes, or a capital view from outside for nothing; but the performances there