There was a grand official closing of the exposition at the end of November, with a distribution of prizes--the city still very full and very gay--escorts and uniforms in every direction--the Champs-Elysées brilliant with soldiers--equipages of all descriptions, and all the afternoon a crowd of people sitting under the trees, much interested in all that was going on, particularly when carriages would pass with people in foreign and striking costumes. The Chinese always wore their costume; the big yellow birds of paradise became quite a feature of the afternoon défilé. An Indian princess too, dressed entirely in white--a soft clinging material, with a white veil, _not_ over her face, and held in place by a gold band going around the head--was always much admired. Every now and then there would be a great clatter of trotting-horses and jingling sabres, when an escort of dragoons would pass, escorting some foreign prince to the Elysée to pay his formal visit to the marshal. Everybody looked gay--French people so dearly love a show--and it was amusing to see the interest every one took in the steady stream of people, from the fashionable woman driving to the Bois in her victoria to the workmen, who would stand in groups on the corners of the streets--some of them occasionally with a child on their shoulders. Frenchmen of all classes are good to children. On a Sunday or fête day, when whole families are coming in from a day at the Bois, one often sees a young husband wheeling a baby-carriage, or carrying a baby in his arms to let the poor mother have a rest. It was curious at the end of the exposition to see how quickly everything was removed (many things had been sold); and in a few days the Champ de Mars took again the same aspect it had at the beginning of the month of May--heavy carts and camions everywhere, oceans of mud, lines of black holes where trees and poles had been planted, and the same groups of small shivering Southerners, all huddled together, wrapped in wonderful cloaks and blankets, quite paralysed with cold. I don't know if the exposition was a financial success--I should think probably not. A great deal of money came into France (but the French spent enormously in their preparations) but the moral effect was certainly good--all the world flocked to Paris. Cabs and river steamers did a flourishing business, as did all the restaurants and cafés in the suburbs. St. Cloud, Meudon, Versailles, Robinson, were crowded every night with people who were thirsting for air and food after long hot days in the dust and struggles of the exposition. We dined there once or twice, but it was certainly neither pleasant nor comfortable--even in the most expensive restaurants. They were all overcrowded, very bad service, badly lighted, and generally bad food. There were various national repasts--Russian, Italian, etc.--but I never participated in any of those, except once at the American