The Birmingham age-herald., 1912-11-09
Frances Wilson Huard in scl
 MagaZine

0 citronsi"
 "Garcon, une absinthe ct de quoi ecrire"
 The waiter addressed had every ap- pearance of being deaf to the above impetuous commands, but before they were reiterated he had turned on hls heel and fairly scuttled away.
 It was 5:SO o'clock in the afternoon. and back of the Madeleine the setting sun sent forth the golden beams of its dying glory. The terraces des cafes, " or, to be more explicit, the triple and quadruple rows of wicker chairs and marble topped tables ranged out of doors beneath an awning, were literally invaded. Not a place seemed to be vacant, yet as each newcomer ap- peared with an anxious or searching look on his face, close behind us could hear the rustic of skirt or the scrap ing of a chair. The act of making room for one more seemed to continue Indefinitely, and we found ourselves in the midst of one of the most pie turesque and interesting crowds im- aginable.
 Though back of me I recognized the familiar accent of some compatriots de- manding lemonade and ice cream, and to my left some Germans clamored loudly for "Munchenbier," the main DOT ton of the assembly was French, es- sentially French
 It was "Pheure de la yerte" (time for the absinthe), which translation, by the way. makes the phrase lose all its savor.
 The harmonious strains of a slow waltz played by string orchestra Somewhere In the interior of the cafe triekled through the tumult of laughter and conversation. From in front of us rose the dull roar of the Grand boule- yards Carriages, motors omnibuses, vehicles of all descriptions. each claimed its right of way in its own deafening manner. Numerous "came- lots" or sidewalk vendors, mingled their hoarse voices with those of the
 'coureeurs,' who shrieked the iatest edition of the evening papers. Add to this ever moving tide of humanity, coming and going in all directions on the wide payements that separate the Terraces" from the street, and the scene is typical of the Parsian Grand boulevards on a warm Sunday after noon.
 While a certain number of inhabi- tants of the "Ville Lumere" hasten to the country every Sabbath and every holiday. there is a very large propor of Do rts of haf Bourgeoise, who consider a promenade on the boulevards of the Champs Elysees the proper finish to the week.
 Nor is this dominical outing mere matter of amusement. In some cases it becomes a serious undertaking Mon sieur in his top hat and frock coat Madame, arrayed in her Sunday gar ments, and the children scrubbed and dressed for the occasion, wend their way from all quarters of the city to- ward the opera and the Madeleine.
 There is not much choice as to direc- ton; up one side of the thoroughfare and down the other, and then finally each group finds it's way to a favorite cafe. where they sip refreshing draughts, seated in comfortable chairs, watching the sights. These sights, by the way, consist of nothing more ex- Itraordinary than thousands of other families following the same beaten track as s~ those who have preceded them.
 When l had become bit accustomed to this continuous commotion, glanced about me and found I had for neighbor a sad faced elderly foman wearing d long, black crepe veil. She was accom- panied by an equally somber man who might have been her brother. if one were to judge his age by the cut and soberness of his apparel and the length lof his bushy beard.
 My astonishment was great when lpresently I heard him address her as Mother" but the word was the key to their whole attitude, for I felt that the widow and her son were accom- plishing a pious weekly duty in mem- ory of times gone by.
 But my attention was soon distracted from them by the arrival of whole family party. Father, mother. grans parents, children and nurse. all installe4