This set M. Lépine thinking. Like all Frenchmen, a lover of children, the Chief of the Police realised that the arrival of winter was a grief and a blow to Edouard and Yvonne. If they couldn’t rejoice in the open, they must be enabled to rejoice in their homes; and the way of rejoicing at home is with toys. But toys, so said that mother, had deteriorated: and this grave state of affairs M. Lépine resolved to investigate. Behold him, therefore, gazing critically—officially—into the windows of toy-shops, and hear him declaring, as the result of his inspections, that the toys, truly enough, were old-fashioned, and vapid, and banal—poor things to play with in the nursery after the Guignol and roundabouts of the Luxembourg Gardens, and the other delights and surprises to be enjoyed in summer _en plein air_. Thus “reforms” were imperative. In a long, official circular M. Lépine informed the toy manufacturers of Paris that, with the consent of the Government and with the approval of the President of the Republic, an annual Toy Exhibition was to be held, and that prizes and diplomas would be awarded to those manufacturers who displayed the greatest originality in their work. However, not ungainly, ugly originality. “Pas de golliwogs.” Messieurs les Apaches also prohibited; and a stern, official reprimand to the toy-maker in whose window M. Lépine had discovered a miniature guillotine. “Des choses amiables, gaies, pratiques, douces, humaines, humoristiques.” Toys to amuse and also to quicken Edouard and Yvonne’s imagination and intellect. Well, the Paris toy-makers responded brilliantly. The first exhibition was an overwhelming success, and to-day it has become a State Institution. Not only is there the “Prize of the President of the Republic,” but M. le Président himself visits the show. Then prizes from the Presidents of the Chamber and Senate, prizes from every Cabinet Minister, prizes from the Judges of the Paris Law Courts, and more prizes from scientists, men of letters, the leading newspapers, the _haute bourgeoisie_, the _grand monde_. Thus, what an inducement for the toy manufacturers to do their utmost! This winter’s Exhibition I missed, but a letter from a French father of five informed me that it had “surpassed” itself. Continued my friend: “Des choses épatantes, merveilleuses, inouïes! I confess, _mon vieux_, that I go there all by myself; yes, without my five children.” Thus M. le Bourgeois (to which excellent category of society my friend belongs) goes to the Lépine Exhibition “on his own.” Surely only a Frenchman could find pleasure in that? And surely only a French Chief of the Police—fancy suggesting such a thing to Scotland Yard!—could, in the midst of his grim, poignant or delirious duties, evince so charming and tender a consideration for children as to realise that it is a question of interest to public order that children shall have toys “original” enough to marvel at and rejoice over, during the bleak months of winter.