The Birmingham age-herald., 1911-06-12
DREAMS FROM DREAMLAND

looo, not counting the groves which bave grown up about 1t thicIly dotted with oooths and tables, where some thousands more may regale themselves Today it was never so glowing with animation and color AS it makes one happy to see oth- CTS happy it makes one adore his own land to witness that which makes other lands great. I do not love Paris as farisian, but as an American; perhaps it IS stretch of words to say love if at all. I like to come here and to behold ! the majesty of France. I like to come here and mark the startling contrasts of light and shade. Beneath the gaiety os the French there burns patriotic ana consuming fire; high sense of publi! honor fine spirit of self-sacrifice alonP With the sometimes too aggressive spirr'S or freedom. I saw them three block long and two files deep upon the Rue St. Honore press up to the Bank of France. old women and old men with their Iitt1e all tied in handkerchiefs and stockings to take up the tribute required by Bis nlarck to rid the soil of the detested Ger man. They did it. Along they did it. the French people-the hard-worlxing, frugal loyal commonalty of France without asking the loan of a sou from the world outside.
 There is a deal more of good than bad in every nation. take off my hat to the French. But, I have had my fling and I am quite ready to go home. Even amid the saiety and the glare, the splen- dor of color and light. the Hungarian band waiting to the sreenery and the stars the strains of the delicious waltz la sVeuve Joyeuse her very seIf-yea. many of her-tappng the time at many adjacent tables ,the song that fills my heart is "hame, hame, hame.-hame to my ain countree." Yet, to come again. dye mind? I should be loath to say good by forever to the Bois de Boulogne. I want to come back to Paris. I always want to come back to Paris. It Is so arr tistic, so scientific. so culinary, so in- eongruvial! One needs not to make an apology or give a reason. Write, jess for fun," and let it go at that.
 And so we glide adown the flower bordered path and out from the clusters of Chinese lanterns, and leave the twink ling groves. to their music and merry making. Wonder behind us. like sentl- gln1mer the lamps of uncountabls coaches as our own. veering toward the city. the moon just topping the tower of St. Jasque de Ia Boucherie and silver plating the bronze figures upon the Arch Of Stars
 We enter the Port Maillot. We turn into the Avenue du Bois. Presently we shall sweep with the rest through the Champs Elysee and on to the ocean of the infinite, the heart Of the mystery we call life, nowhere so condensed, so pa1pab ble, so appealing. Roll the screen awayi The shades of Clovis and Geneveve may be seen hand in hand with the shades of Martel and Pepin, taking the round of the ghost-walk between St. Denis and St. Germain, now le Balafre and again Navarro now the assassns of the Llgue an dnow the assassins of the Terror. to keep them company; nor yet quite all on murder bent some on pleasure; the Knights and Ladies of the Cloth of Gold and the hosts of the Renaissance; Cyrano de Bergerac and Francois Villon leading the ragamuffin procession the jades of the Fronde, she-goats of the Merry War; Longueville, Chevreuse and fair-haired Anne of Austria; and Ninon. too, and Manon: and the never-to-be-forgotten four "one for all and all for one," Gag liostro and Monte Christo, on the side, Rabelais taking notes and laughing under his cowl. Catherine de Medici and Robes pierre sling away poor guilty things into the pale twilight of the dawn!
 Names Names! Only names? I am not just so sure about that. In any event, what roll call? We are such stun as dreams are made of, and our little life is rounded by sleep; the selfsame sleep which these, our living dead men and immortal women in steel armor and gauzy fnuslns, in silken hose and sock and busSin, epaulettes and top boots brocades and buff facings. have sn long and know well, If I should die in Paris I should ex- ,ect theul--or some of them-to meet me at the barriers and to say, Behold, the wlckedness that was done in the world, the cruelty and the wrong, dwelt in the body, not in the soul of man. freed from 1 it's foul incasement. purified and made eternal by tine hand of deaths which. as ! you shall see. is but the touch of God.'
 H. w..
 Hotel Continental, Paris. 1911.