city, its startling contrasts of wealth and poverty, the

Let poets sing of chiming bells and gently lowing kine I like the clanging cable cars like fire engines in line And I never miss the sunset and for moonlight never sigh When `Swept by Ocean Breezes.' flashes out against the sky. And when the Tenderloin awakes, and open theatres glow I want to be on Broadway

Where the Orchids Grow."

"John Drew, I am your debtor For a very pleasant letter And a lot of cabinet photos Of the `Butterflies' and you And I think it very kind That you kept me so in mind And pitied me in exile So I do, John Drew.

John Drew, 'twixt you and me Precious little I can see Of that good there is in Solitude That poets say they view. For _I_ hate to be in bed With a candle at my head Sitting vis a vis with Conscience. So would you, John Drew.

John Drew, then promise me That as soon as I am free I may sit in the first entrance

As Lamb always lets me do. And watch you fume and fret While the innocent soubrette Takes the centre of the stage a-- Way from you, John Drew."

In the summer of 1894 Richard went to London for a purely social visit, but while he was there President Carnot was assassinated, and he went to Paris to write the "story" of the funeral and of the election of the new President.

I am out here to see the election of the new President. I jumped on the mail coach and came off in a hurry without any breakfast, but I had a pretty drive out, and the guard and I talked of London. The palace is closed and no one is admitted except by card, so I have seen only the outside of it. It is most interesting. There is not a ribbon or a badge; not a banner or a band. The town is as quiet as always, and there are not 200 people gathered at the gate through which the deputies pass. Compared to an election convention in Chicago, it is most interesting. How lively it is inside of the chamber where the thing is going on I cannot say. I shall not wait to hear the result, but will return on the coach.