Burials are a monopoly in Paris. The Pompes funèbres is a great company, who have decorations arranged and always ready for every church in Paris, and everyone is buried by them, and in the “class” they choose to pay for. There are seven or eight “classes,” and it is so arranged that the rich pay for the poor. A first-class funeral is very rare, as it costs a very large sum. Officials attend the poor man’s funeral—only less gorgeously dressed—equally with the rich, and all things are done decently and in order. As a sign of the times, not long before I left Paris, I was called upon to take a funeral of an American at St. Germain, some miles outside the fortifications. The family and friends went down by train, and I went with the body, but in a motor-fourgon (hearse). When we left the gates of the city we travelled very rapidly. I noticed a marked change during my life in Paris in the keeping of Sunday. Twenty years ago many shops were open, and there was little to distinguish it from any other day. Now most places of business are closed. Leagues were formed some years ago, advocating one day’s rest in seven, and quite lately (1907) a law was passed requiring that all employés should cease work on Sunday. Those compelled to work on that day (in restaurants, etc.) must have another day. Alas! the change is not due to a religious but a secular movement, and is solely to oblige one day’s rest in the seven as a holiday. As far as it goes it is a good thing for the people, and it is pleasant to see the orderly crowds enjoying the open air in the Bois, the Parc Monceau, and other places, while one regrets the irreligion which is so characteristic of the nation at this time. The well-known Mark Twain (Mr. Clements) came to Paris to complete (so I understood) one of his books. No one knew of his presence amongst us for some time. When I heard of it I went to see him in his hotel in the Rue de Rivoli to ask him to give a public reading from his works for the benefit of the proposed Church House. He put me off in his characteristic way. I then went to see the Marquis of Dufferin and Ava—our Ambassador at that time—and asked him if he would give a room at the Embassy if I could persuade Mark Twain to read. He kindly agreed, and so did Mr. Clements. We had a splendid success, the rooms were crowded. We obtained twenty francs a ticket, and cleared some £200. American humour is sometimes difficult for English people to appreciate, but no one could resist Mark Twain. I shall always feel grateful to him for his kind help on that occasion. Among the many artists it was our privilege to know in Paris was the eminent sculptor, Mr. Bruce Joy. He had then a studio in the city. We still possess a replica of his well-known bust of the late Archbishop Benson.