Before leaving the Hostel I was invited into a garden gay with roses and carnations and the merry voices of happy girls. They were gathered in little groups, drinking tea, chatting French, and discussing the work they had accomplished that day. A pretty American girl approached me, saying, "Will you have tea, bread and butter?" In a few minutes she brought me tea on a pretty Chinese tray. We laughed and chatted in turn, telling of our work and aspirations. As we sat in the beautiful twilight of that summer day we never dreamed that Paris would be threatened in a few weeks and the Students' Hostel, so dear to American artists and students, would become deserted. PARIS, PAST AND PRESENT I hate to think of Paris in a sombre tone, for Paris likes to be gay at all times. It is the natural tempo of the city, for whatever may be the follies of this Parisian capital, she is always beautiful, lively and gay. Her large, wide boulevards are now deserted, except for an occasional regiment of French and English troops that hurry along, or now and then an auto-car speeding up the boulevard carrying some high officials on an important mission. Most of the fine shops in the Avenue de L'Opera and the Rue de La Paix are closed and heavily shuttered while their handsome stock of pearls and other jewels, fine dresses and furs, are hidden in vaults and put away in packing trunks. Even at noontime, when the streets are usually thronged with the working-girls hurrying to their luncheon or out for a half an hour's exercise, the streets are deserted except for the appearance of some tired-looking shopgirl trying to earn a few cents in spite of present conditions. The beautiful hotels, always crowded this time of the year, are empty except for a few Americans who are lingering, waiting for a boat to take them home. The large cafés on the boulevard are all closed. It is only the small tea-rooms and bars that dare hope for any business. The smart people who live out near the Bois have heard too much about German Zeppelins to venture out on a beautiful day, and forbid their nurses taking the children into the park. It is only the poorer people in the Latin Quarter who insist in taking their children in the beautiful gardens of the Luxembourg for an airing. As night falls, the people gather in crowds to watch the skies. They have let their imaginations dwell so long on Zeppelins and bombs that many imagine they see these awful implements of war when they are watching harmless stars.