Abroad and at Home; Practical Hints for Tourists

Apropos to the subject come these remarks in the New York Sun:

Monuments, however, are not Edinburgh’s only attractions, but do not count on seeing the sights there on Sunday. The day is closely and strictly observed. London is surely quiet enough on a Sunday, but it is gayety itself when compared with the capital of Scotland. Not a shop is open; even the drug shops are open only during two hours. Everything is shut as tight as a drum in Edinburgh except the churches, and to these you must either walk or hire a carriage, for not the wheel of an omnibus or car turns on Sunday.

RIGHT REVEREND THE MODERATOR,
JAMES MACGREGOR, D. D.

In September, 1890, I had the privilege of listening to England’s foremost preacher, Rev. C. H. Spurgeon, in his Tabernacle at Newington Butts, in London; and one year later, on Sunday, September 16, 1891, happening to be in Edinburgh, I made it a point to hear the Rev. James Macgregor, the leading light of the Scotch Presbyterian Church.

Americans mostly flock to St. Giles’s in Canongate, on account of its age and historical associations. They attend divine service there early in the morning with the soldiers from the old castle. But I wanted to hear a great preacher, so I repaired to Synod Hall, which the members of St. Cuthbert’s parish were using as a temporary place of worship.

The extensive alterations, internally and externally, which were then making in St. Cuthbert’s Church, will render it, in some respects, worthy of the site, and of its long and honorable history. The present structure dates from the year 1775. Only the tower and spire of the old church will be retained, and the new edifice, which will not be finished until the autumn of 1892, will accommodate a much larger number of people than the former building did.

It is a notable fact that on the spot where the building stands—under the Castle Rock of Edinburgh—Christian worship has been continuously maintained for more than a thousand years. It is, indeed, one of the very oldest shrines in Scotland, hallowed by the prayers of the faithful, which have arisen from it for century upon century.

Originally a mere Culdee cell, dedicated to the memory of Cuthbert, the monk of Lindisfarne, it has passed through a variety of forms. Changing with the revolutions of Scottish history, it has been Roman Catholic, Presbyterian, Episcopalian, and finally Presbyterian.

The whole aspect of the place where it rose has changed. The Nor’ Loch, which stretched away from it eastward under the Castle Rock, has disappeared; the sweep of undulating country has been transformed into wide streets; a great city has arisen around it; and it still remains what it has been for ages, a centre of Christian influence to a wide community.

It is interesting as a piece of religious history to note that within little more than a stone’s throw of the site of the present structure is the spot where the first General Assembly was held on the 20th of December, 1560. It consisted of forty-two members, of whom only six were ministers. The first name on the roll is that of “John Knox.” It was a fully equipped Ecclesiastical Convention, and at once proceeded to important business. There is no parallel instance of a court with such authority springing so suddenly into being. That authority was almost sovereign. It was based on the sanction and support of the popular will. With a power to which the Scottish Parliament never attained, it was the representative assembly of the Scottish people, embracing within it from the very beginning the pith of the nation’s manhood. The General Assembly was simply the Scotch people convened, through their natural representatives, to settle their own religious affairs. And they did it effectually. Never was a change so radical and so beneficial effected in as brief a space of time as that accomplished by the Scottish Reformation.

So much for the past. Synod Hall, which, as I have said, was temporarily occupied by the congregation of St. Cuthbert’s, is a large freestone building occupying a prominent site in Castle Terrace opposite the back of the Castle. It accommodates about twenty-five hundred people. A bold placard in the vestibule informed the hundreds of strangers in and about the vestibule that they would be admitted into the body of the church a few minutes before the services commenced. The “strangers” waited with all the patience they could command, and when the sign was made by one of the deacons, they flocked in, a large space at the back of the house being set apart for them. Soon every seat was occupied and people were requested to please sit closer together. Then, when there was not an inch of room to spare on the benches, chairs were placed in the aisles.

Dr. James Macgregor, the present minister, was appointed Moderator of the General Assembly for the current year in May, 1891. He has been connected with St. Cuthbert’s for fourteen years, having succeeded Dr. Barclay, now in Montreal. St. Cuthbert’s, or, as it is also called, the “West End Church,” is not given to making changes oftener than is necessary. Dr. Barclay is said to be the only man who ever left St. Cuthbert’s; his predecessors all died at their posts.

In Synod Hall there is no organ; the music was supplied by the congregation and a choir. St. Cuthbert’s usually rejoices in a large choir, but on the occasion of my visit many of its members were “away on their holidays,” as they call their vacation in Great Britain. The choir on that Sunday numbered fifteen—three men and twelve of the gentler sex.

Mr. Edie, a promising and rather brilliant man under thirty, who has a clear voice and a Scotch accent is assistant to Dr. Macgregor. The first selection of song which he gave out was the 129th Psalm:

Then Mr. Edie read the 62d Chapter of Isaiah. The next selection for the congregation was the 102d Psalm, 6th Verse: “And God in His glory shall appear;” and then the 356th Hymn: “Te Deum Laudamus.”

Mr. Edie concluded his part of the services with a fervent and beautiful prayer in which, after the Queen, Prince of Wales, the princess, the judges and magistrates of great Britain were enumerated, special mention was made of the President and people of the United States; of “our wandering brethren, the children of Israel; of our Catholic brethren; bless all honorable business men; bless our friends and also those who have wronged us.”

Dr. Macgregor, who then rose from a chair, took his text from the 4th Chapter, 1st Verse, of “Hosea:” “Hear the word of the Lord, ye children of Israel.”

Then followed a brilliant discourse on the history of the Jewish race, in which, incidentally, much information was conveyed, the main ideas being: first, that the government of Great Britain should use its influence in behalf of the Russian refugees; second that the Christian people owe much to the Jews and should therefore be most charitable toward them.

The minister paid a high tribute to the chosen people and their characteristics. He said that the countries which abused them most, Spain and Portugal, had been least prosperous, and it would be strange, indeed, if Russia suffered not for its inhuman persecution of them; that, in fact, it was suffering.

Notwithstanding that they had been downtrodden for centuries, the Jews were vastly stronger in numbers to-day than ever before in the history of the world, numbering at the present time twelve millions.

The speaker showed that the decline of Jerusalem was owing to the comparatively small number of Jews there in later years, and he strongly advocated their return.

To quote the doctor almost verbatim: “I may be criticised for criticising Russia. Some may say: ‘Let each country look after its own affairs, and it will have enough to do. It is none of England’s business what Russia does,’ but I say it is the business of every civilized country, of every civilized man; it is your business and my business; it affects each and every one of us; it hurts you and me, and it is to be hoped that Great Britain will lift up its voice and use its influence in behalf of these much injured refugees.”

If this discourse had been especially prepared to deliver before a strictly and exclusively Jewish assemblage, it could not have been more complimentary to their people. One of its “points” was thus worded: “There must be something wrong with that man’s head—with that man’s heart who despises the Jews.”

Dr. Macgregor has the title of one of Her Majesty’s chaplains; he is a member of the Hon. Royal Scottish Academy, and a member of the Royal Society of Edinburgh, but a self-made man withal. He is not ashamed to acknowledge that his parents were poor and modest. He may have lacked early advantages, but he certainly has made the best of his later opportunities. He is a man of fine intellect; a ripe scholar, with broad and liberal views. His language is choice, and yet the fine phrases and well selected words seem to follow each other with great ease. His diction is neither stilted nor is it too simple but that of an intellectual man who is addressing intelligent people.

His voice, notwithstanding a certain and unmistakable nasal quality, is penetrating—and his elocutionary powers are great. I was on the last bench, with my back against the wall, and I heard almost every word. I could not follow the speaker quickly on account of his strong Scottish accent—“murdering” became “murrderring,” with a most decided roll of the r, and “Turks” came to me in two syllables, something like “Turreks,” while “earth” was changed to “airth,” with the r in the middle by no means slighted.

The speaker’s facial expressions were a study, and his gesticulations at times strikingly dramatic. He appealed in tender and pathetic tones to the hearts of his hearers, with hands uplifted as if in supplication, and then again he would raise his head and fold his arms across his chest in a Napoleonic, defiant attitude when combating the arguments of an imaginary adversary.

In fact, he does not seem to be addressing a large audience, but talking to and debating with but one person, and each person in the congregation might imagine that he was that one. He takes both sides in the debate, and makes both effective, but he carries the day for his own because he is on the side of right.

Dr. Macgregor closed the service with Hymn 117:

When the moderator is in the pulpit you do not notice that he is below the medium height; only when he steps down, and when you stand by his side, do you observe that he is small of stature—not much over five feet. His eye has a most kindly expression, his voice is pleasing in conversation, and his manner gracious and gentle. The accompanying portrait is reproduced from a photograph made by John Moffatt, 125 Princes street, Edinburgh.

On the day I had the good fortune to be present, there were in the congregation many prominent members of the Archæological Society of Scotland, who were on a temporary visit to Edinburgh, including the Bishop of Carlisle and the Earl of Percy, heir to the dukedom of Northumberland.

After the service I had the honor of being presented to Dr. Macgregor by a member of this society, in “The Moderator’s Room,” so inscribed on the door. Upon hearing that I was “from the States,” he immediately expressed his great admiration for the country and its form of government. He seemed to be well-informed regarding our people and the country, and said that one of his cherished hopes was to make us a visit.

CROSSING THE CHANNEL.

There are many ways of “crossing” between the Continent and the English coast, or vice versa. The best steamers between England and Holland are those which go from Rotterdam to Harwich. Harwich (Anglice, Harridge) is about a two hours’ run up to London. I have tried the different ways of crossing from the French coast to England—via Newhaven and Dieppe, Folkstone and Boulogne, and Calais and Dover. The last route is by far the best. It would be preferred over all others, if for only one reason, because it is the shortest, the English Channel being “disagreeable” at least one half the year. The Calais and Dover boats are advertised to make the trip between the two points “in seventy minutes,” and they do actually make it in one hour and a quarter. The other routes are much longer. No small craft that ply on the English waters are as beautiful in their appointments as our Hudson river boats, or those for instance of the Fall River line, but they are staunch and swift, and they are manned by as brave a set of seamen as ever trod a deck. The English boats are proof against wind and wave, the only danger being from fire or fog, but as they are officered by skillful and experienced navigators, and are very carefully handled, the danger is reduced to a minimum.

PARIS HOTELS.

The Grand Hotel is one of the largest and most expensive. It is grand in size; grand in appointments. It is not a cheap house in any sense of that term, and possibly for that reason is largely patronized by Americans. The building occupies a square block facing that magnificent street, l’Avenue de l’Opéra, diagonally across from the Grand Opera House. It encloses a large courtyard with fountains and parterres. The caves of the Grand are ranked as one of the sights of Paris; they are stocked with the choicest of wines. Rooms from six francs per day: table d’hôte dinner, seven francs.

HOTEL CONTINENTAL.

The Continental, on the corner of the rue de Rivoli and rue Castiglione, is opposite the gardens of the Tuileries. Near by are Hotel des Invalides, the Madeleine, the Eiffel Tower and other interesting buildings. It is large and elegant—grander than the Grand. The grounds, with the structure and furnishing are said to have cost a few millions of francs, and it may be readily believed. Some of the rooms are palatial in size, furniture and decorations.

The rates at the Continental are a little lower than at the Grand. They range all the way from five francs to thirty-five francs per day for room; lights and attendance extra. Breakfast of coffee, chocolate or tea with rolls, from one to two francs; breakfast proper, or déjeuner à la fourchette, five francs, wine and coffee included. Table d’hôte dinner, seven francs. At all Paris hotels wine is included in the charge for dinner, but at the Continental on Sundays, champagne as well as vin ordinaire is served free, but not, as in the case of the latter, in unlimited quantity.

HOTEL MEURICE.

Smaller than these two hotels and for that reason thought by some to be more select is the Hotel Meurice, in rue de Rivoli. It is near rue Castiglione and opposite the Tuileries gardens, altogether a beautiful location. Issuing from the handsome courtyard and turning to the left, a few minutes walk brings you to the Palais Royal and the Louvre galleries; or turning to the right a few steps bring you past the hotel Continental, to Place de la Concorde and the Champs Élysées. It may seem strange to those who have not lived in continental hotels, to note that the hotel Meurice is scrupulously clean. You observe this in its beautiful courtyard, in its handsome dining-room and in the neatly kept bedrooms.

The hotel is patronized by leading New York families and by the best English society, and it ranks as does the Brunswick or the Victoria in New York. The cuisine of the house is famous and its cellars contain rare wines. Hotel Meurice was established in 1815 and its present proprietor has kept it for more than thirty years. If your stay in Paris is to cover a week or more, you—and especially the ladies of your party—will find this hotel a thoroughly agreeable place of sojourn; Baedeker counsels avoiding the largest hotels if you are accompanied by ladies. Hotel Meurice has electric light, and new plumbing was put in a few years ago. It accommodates two hundred guests. Single rooms from five francs per day; apartments from fifteen to one hundred francs. Table d’hôte dinner, at six P.M., six francs. Proprietor, H. Schëurich; address, 228 rue de Rivoli.

HOTEL CHATHAM.

Hotel Chatham is justly famed as one of the most elegantly appointed of Paris hotels. I have known it for twenty years, and for twenty-five years it has been the temporary home of travellers of all nations,—those who demand the best hotel accommodations. Hotel Chatham occupies a central location, near the Opéra, rue de la Paix, the theatres, and the best shopping streets. Once inside the house, however, and an air of tranquility reigns that is in marked contrast to the busy life of the city, in the midst of which the hotel is situated. The first feature of the Hotel Chatham that attracts attention is the large, light, and spacious courtyard, fifty by one hundred feet. It makes an impression that gains in favor when you see the apartments. The grand salon, the reading-room and café look out upon this courtyard, which is embellished with plants and flowers.

The sleeping apartments are beautifully furnished, have plenty of light and good ventilation. There are elegant suites, also choice single and double rooms. The decorations are in good taste. In the best apartments the walls are not hung with paper, but are covered with stuffs—a mixture of worsted and soft silks. Hot and cold water on every floor. Two features especially commend themselves to those who are acquainted with foreign hotels; there are two Otis elevators, and the house is lighted throughout by electricity—shedding a light in the rooms, not of one bougie, but of twenty. The cuisine represents the perfection of the culinary art, and the wine-cellars are celebrated for their famous vintages.

The Hotel Chatham is the home of the best people and many Americans annually seek its hospitality. The Harpers, for instance, members of the great publishing house, are among its regular guests. The present proprietor is M. H. Holzschuch, son of the late owner, under whom the house acquired its wide fame. Hotel Chatham is at 17 and 19 rue Daunou, between rue de la Paix and Boulevard des Capucines.

HOTEL BINDA.

Everybody in Paris knows the Hotel Binda, and it is known by a great many people who have never been in Paris. With New Yorkers the house is a favorite because it is kept by Mr. Charles Binda who for years was manager of Delmonico’s, and this settles at once and satisfactorily the important question of cuisine. The house was opened in 1878. It is solidly built of stone, five stories high, and is an imposing structure. It stands in rue de l’Echelle, on a corner of the avenue de l’Opéra, the principal business street of Paris, and probably the handsomest shopping street in the world. It is most conveniently located for the principal places of interest—the Grand Opera, Palais Royal, the Louvre galleries, etc. One minute’s walk brings you to the rue de Rivoli, that wide open street, one side of which is flanked by the open and beautiful gardens of the Tuileries.

If in the heat of a summer day in walking to Place Vendome or to the Champs Élysées, you wish to avoid sunny rue de Rivoli, shade is at your very door in the narrow but picturesque rue St. Honoré, which, with its little shops, its hotels, old churches, etc., is a feature of outdoor life in Paris.

The Grand Opera is at the other end of the Avenue de l’Opéra, a short walk. But omnibuses pass the door, by which you can reach any part of Paris at the expense of a few sous. And, for that matter, it is only a thirty-cent cab fare to the Grand Opera, to the offices of the American Minister, Whitelaw Reid, in Avenue Hoche, or to the Anglo-American Bank on the corner of Chaussée d’Antin and rue Meyerbeer. Cocher will go fast enough if by the course and slow enough (too slow) if by the hour.

Instead of a courtyard such as many hotels in Paris have, and which in some cases are useless, the space on the ground floor is used by the Binda for a grand, glass-enclosed reception and reading-room, beautifully lighted by day and by night. There is also a grand drawing-room and a smoking-room, which unlike the dingy rooms turned over to the use of men in some English hotels is, in the Binda, a very bright and attractive apartment.

All the apartments are comfortably and tastefully furnished, but some of the rooms are furnished in palatial style. There are baths on every floor and some rooms have running water. Of course there are electric lights and an ascenseur, Anglice “lift.” But for all its grandeur, one may live at the Binda at moderate cost.

If you know about how wide you wish to open your purse in selecting apartments you can tell as precisely as you could in an American hotel how much your bill will amount to for a stay of five days or five weeks. Single rooms may be had from seven to twelve francs per day; double rooms from fourteen to thirty francs. Special rates, lower than these, are made to guests remaining a length of time. Here is the tariff for the dining-room: Plain breakfast (tea or chocolate) 1f. 50c., about 30 cents; table d’hôte dinner, served at separate tables, 6f., servant’s board 6f. per day. No charge is made for attendance.

That Charles Binda is proprietor is guarantee that the table is equal to the Cambridge in New York, or the Albemarle in London, and these satisfy the most fastidious. Mr. Binda is famous for his cuisine, but he prides himself most upon the quality of his guests. He demands that above and beyond everything else his house shall be select, and it is so in the fullest sense. You may meet crowned heads and princes there. Hon. Thomas L. James, one of New York’s honored and honorable citizens, with his charming family, stayed at the Binda while he was in Paris last summer, and I also saw Judge Dittenhoefer, the family of Vice-Consul Hooper, and other well-known Americans in the reading-room. Yes, the Binda is a select family hotel. Address No. 11 rue de l’Echelle.

HOTEL ANGLO-FRANÇAIS.

There are several comparatively small but decidedly pleasant hotels in rue Castiglione—Hotel Liverpool, Hotel Balmoral and Hotel Anglo-Français. The last-named is especially to be commended for its choice location, the comfort and cleanliness of its rooms, its appetizing cuisine, and its remarkably moderate charges. It is in rue Castiglione, directly opposite the Continental; two blocks one way from the Column Vendome, two blocks from the Place de la Concorde, near the Champs Élysées, and only a few hundred feet from the beautiful gardens of the Tuileries.

Like the majority of Paris hotels, the Anglo-Français is entered by a court-yard, but unlike some of them, the ventilation and lighting of the house are good. It has ample room for more than one hundred guests, and they can be made very comfortable.

The house is kept on the American as well as on the European plan. If you adopt the system which prevails abroad, you may hire a single room as low as four francs per day, or a double room from seven francs per day; breakfast, three francs; luncheon, four francs; table d’hôte dinner, six francs. This figure includes good wine in quantum sufficit, as a medical man might say. As at nearly all Continental hotels, “service” is charged. In this instance it is one franc per day; and you pay for lights—item seventy-five centimes, about fifteen cents.

But if you wish to be relieved of all this detail and save the bother of reckoning, you can stay at the Anglo-Français, and your whole bill per day for board, lodging, lights, wine, etc., will be the moderate sum of fifteen francs (three dollars), which, considering the appointments of the house, the excellent table and the attention you receive, is an uncommonly low rate.

The proprietor is a gentleman of decidedly pleasant and courteous manners, who, having lived in England for twenty years, is perfectly at home in the English language as well as his native tongue.

If you desire to mix with an ultra-fashionable set, the Bristol is your house; if you want to see and be with Americans only, then select the Grand. The Continental is the place for those who would feast their eyes on palatial salons: at the Anglo-Français you will get into the company of good people from different countries, you can be quiet and comfortable and made to feel at home, as is to be expected in a smaller house. Moreover, your purse will be lightly drawn upon in accordance with the figures given above. Proprietor, Paul Vargues; address, No. 6 rue Castiglione.

Hotel de Lille et d’Albion, in rue St. Honoré is not a very large house, but it is ranked among the best, although its charges are quite moderate. It has baths, lift, electric light and English billiard tables, its modern contrivances including telephonic communication with the leading European cities. The sanitary arrangements are said to be perfect. The location is central for shopping, for places of amusement and points of interest, being near Place Vendome, Tuileries Gardens and the Opera. Mail address, 223 rue St. Honoré: telegraph address, Lillalbion, Paris.

Hotel Bristol and Hotel du Rhin both front on the Place Vendome; you can’t miss them: they are near the tall and graceful Column Vendome which pierces the sky from the centre of the square. There is no question as to the excellence of either of these houses. Both are patronized by a select class of patrons; the former is the home of the Prince of Wales when he visits Paris.

Hotel Liverpool is patronized by the Astors. To Americans this information conveys more than could be detailed in a whole page of description. It is situated at 11 rue Castiglione, a wide and fashionable thoroughfare leading from Place Vendome to the Tuileries Gardens. The house was recently newly fitted up and has a hydraulic lift. There are large apartments for families making a more or less prolonged stay; smaller apartments for transient guests.

Hotel de l’Athénée. Of hotels just as select as any of those mentioned, there are a score or more. Among them may be mentioned the Hotel de l’Athénée, 15 rue Scribe. It was recently enlarged, the whole of the Théâtre de l’Athénée having been added, and the former dining-room is now converted into a reading room. There are two bath-rooms on each floor. The appointments include a parlor, a reading room, a restaurant a la carte, and two private dining-rooms. There are 180 rooms in all, which rent from four francs to twenty francs a day, but there are not very many rooms in the house at four francs.

Des Deux Mondes.—A comfortable family hotel, newly and tastefully furnished, is the Hotel des Deux Mondes, 22 Avenue de l’Opéra, facing full south. The charges are moderate and the table d’hôte good.

Prince Albert.—If price alone is a recommendation there is the Hotel du Prince Albert, 5 rue St. Hyacinthe, near the Tuileries. Rooms from 2 francs 50 centimes per day with even lower terms for the winter. The house seeks American patronage.

Hotel Brighton, 218 rue de Rivoli. Rooms from 6 francs per day: breakfast, 2 francs, dinner 7 francs. Proprietor, A. Bastianello.

Hotel Campbell.—This favorite house with an English name has changed hands, lately. Arthur Geissler is the new proprietor. It is at 61 and 63 Avenue de Friedland, a pleasant and fashionable location, near the grand drive of the Champs Élysées. The house is in a healthy condition and the rates are moderate, Hotel Campbell is easy to find; it is close to the Arc de Triomphe.

PENSIONS OF THE FIRST CLASS.

The Van Pelt Pension at 69 Boulevard St. Michel is kept by Mrs. E. L. Van Pelt, a Philadelphia woman who took with her to Paris the best American references. This place has many features which commend it to the stranger in Paris. Its location, facing the Luxembourg Gardens, is near the famous art schools and the Sorbonne, where free lectures are given, thus making this a desirable residence for students. It is within easy access by omnibus, cab or train to all parts of Paris and environs. The house stands on a corner, and all the rooms are exposed to the sun and air. A balcony surrounds the first floor. French is the language of the household, and a chaperon accompanies ladies to lectures, etc. There is a separate table for those who prefer to speak English.

American Family Home.—This term is appropriately applied to the pension de famille presided over by a young French widow whose personal beauty and grace of manner are more than marked. Reference is made to Madame Veuve Léon Glatz, who is assisted in her duties by her sister. Both of them speak English with a pretty and piquant accent. The Glatz pension is in rue de Clichy, five minutes distant from St. Lazare Station and Park Monceau; ten minutes from la Madelaine and the Opera. It was built in 1885 and is sanitarily correct; supplied with pure spring water from the new water works of Paris. There is a really grand salon in which musicales are given weekly. In the rear of this is a large and handsome garden, neatly kept—a very pretty lounging place on summer evenings. There are baths in the house, the bedrooms are nicely furnished, the service is good, and last, and by no means least worthy of note is the table, which is liberally supplied; the best as to quality. But Madame Glatz at present has only room for thirty guests and her house is in such demand that you must engage rooms months, or at least weeks, in advance. Terms, 8 to 14 francs per day, which is the full charge; no extras, except, possibly, for lights. This is a favorite place with Americans of refinement: others are not admitted to Madame Glatz’s charming family circle. Address, 45 rue de Clichy.

The Powers Pension—One of the most desirable pensions in Paris, especially desirable for Americans, is kept not by a “charming Frenchwoman,” nor by a “hearty” Britisher, but by a couple of cultivated, good Americans, well-known in New York—Mr. and Mrs. J. G. Powers, Jr. The house is in a high and delightful location, in the American quarter, 69 Avenue d’Antin, near the Champs Élysées. Mrs. Powers claims that it is “the most elegant and comfortable pension in Europe,” and I, who have had some experience in hotels and pensions of the first rank, do not contradict the statement. I am not given to using the adjective “elegant” too freely, but elegant and tasteful are words that come to mind without summoning, in speaking of the Powers pension. The salon is a beautiful apartment; yes, uncommonly beautiful. It is on Monday evenings more particularly that this salon looks its best, when the receptions, with music, are held. The Powers pension is a select family home in the strictest sense of the term, and the rates for board are quite reasonable: pleasant rooms and three meals from ten francs per day. A lift was put in last autumn. Make a note of the address—69 Avenue d’Antin.

In the hotels mentioned the reader has a very wide latitude of choice and he may be guided by the facts and the figures set forth, so far as they go. As a last word I will add that if the reader “puts up” at the Hotel Chatham, Hotel Binda, or the Anglo-Français, or the pensions of Mr. and Mrs. Powers, Madame Veuve Glatz, or Mrs. Van Pelt, he will surely have no occasion to regret his choice of quarters.

THE RESTAURANTS OF PARIS.

In order to anticipate criticism, and to avoid disappointment, it may be well to state at once that the art of cookery is in a terrible state of decadence in Paris. The men of the present generation do not seem to have the sentiment of the table; they know neither its varied resources nor its infinite refinements; their palates are dull, and they are content to eat rather than to dine. This decadence may be remarked both in private and in public establishments. The gourmet nowadays is a rarity, and a man of thirty years of age who knows how to order a dinner is a still greater rarity. One might discover many causes of this decline of a delicate art. The conditions of contemporary life, the hurry and unrest of modern Paris, doubtless do not conduce to the appreciation of fine cooking; but the chief cause of the decline of cookery in restaurants is the development of club life. The men of fashion, leisure, or wealth, who formerly would have lived at the restaurants, now dine at their clubs between two séances at the baccarat table, and the restaurants have thus lost that nucleus of regular and fastidious customers which, by its readiness to criticise and appreciate, obliged and encouraged the chef to keep up the traditions of the dainty palates of the past. At present the great restaurants of Paris depend for support as much on foreigners and on provincial people as on resident Parisians. The criticism of their cookery is less constant and less rigorous; the bills of fare are less varied than they were of old; the amour propre of the cooks is less; in a word, cookery has become nowadays more an industry than an art. Even in the most famous Parisian restaurants the visitor must not expect too much in the way either of viands or of wines.

In certain things, again, it must be remembered that the Parisian market is inferior to the markets of almost any town in England. The English visitor generally speaks disparagingly of the French oyster, for instance, doubtless because he is not accustomed to its flavor, and yet I know many connoisseurs who have travelled and dined in many lands who maintain that of all oysters the green Marennes (Marennes vertes) are the most delicate and delicious. The lovers of comparisons will ask what equivalents the French have for real turtle-soup, ox-tail, mulligatawny, and pea-soup with a sprinkling of dried mint and sippets. Is it their bisque or purée of crayfish, their consommé de volaille, their Saint Germain, or green pea-soup, their Parmentier, or thick potato-soup? But the traveller does not go to Paris to eat the food of his native land, but rather to enjoy the particular food of the country. Therefore, he must not expect to get fine salmon, or cod-fish, or turbot, or even mackerel in Paris. The city is too far away from the sea to have good salt-water fish. Salmon in Paris is dry and of poor flavor; fresh cod-fish is rarely seen, and the habits of the restaurants render it impossible to eat such salmon and turbot as there is in favorable conditions. In a London restaurant a whole salmon or a whole turbot is served hot like the joints; in a Paris restaurant, if you order boiled salmon or turbot, the cook cuts a slice off a parboiled fish, puts the slice in the pot, and boils it up for you. The result is unsatisfactory. As a rule, I should say, in a Parisian restaurant eat your salmon and your turbot cold, and prefer to both a red mullet (rouget), a sole, a trout, or some fresh-water fish. A carefully prepared matelotte d’anguilles, which is not precisely the same as stewed eels, and friture de Seine, which need not be compared to whitebait, are both dishes not unworthy of the attention of the epicure.

The French are poor roasters; the roast beef and roast mutton in their restaurants cannot for a moment be compared with the joints at Simpson’s or Blanchard’s in London. Pies and puddings also are unknown to the French, with the exception of pâtés de foie gras and game pies. The French, again, eat their game very fresh and less cooked than the English. Generally, I think that the raw material of the Parisian restaurant cuisine is inferior to that of English restaurants; on the other hand, with the limitations referred to above, particularly as regards roasting, the preparation of the dishes is superior, and in the first-class restaurants unique. In the preparation and variety of vegetables the French lead the world; in the fabrication of sauces they are unsurpassed; in the serving and arrangement of a dinner they leave little to be desired.

But where can one go to dine in Paris? Which restaurants are the best, and what are the prices, and what is one to order? The subject is delicate and even dangerous, for although the critic has the right to declare a book or picture bad, pernicious, or abominable, and to pronounce its author to be unworthy of public attention, he dare not be so outspoken about the wretchedest restaurant-keeper who is licensed to poison his customers. I cannot tell you that such and such a restaurant in the Palais Royal is not to be frequented, or that such and such a gilded palace on the boulevard is an expensive delusion. I may, however, assure you that as prices run in Paris, it is impossible for a restaurateur to serve you with a healthy and honest plate of meat for less than one and a half francs, and you may therefore conclude that the restaurateurs who, for a fixed price, varying from one and a quarter to three francs, offer you a complete dinner of five courses—soup, fish, meat, two desserts, and half a bottle of wine—are probably in league with the honorable apothecaries, whose aid their customers must often need.

To the traveller I say avoid prix fixe dinners altogether, or, if you will satisfy your curiosity, go to the Dîner Européen at the corner of rue Lepelletier and the boulevard (price five francs), or to the table d’hôte dinners of those vast caravansaries, the Hôtel du Louvre, the Grand Hôtel, or the Hôtel Continental, where you dine for six, seven, or eight francs, and see specimens of men, women and children of all the countries of the world, and a profusion of linen, of silver plate, and luxurious surroundings which, for a time, will perhaps distract your attention from the insipidness of the roasts and the cheapness of the sauces.

The Bouillon Duval is an establishment which generally attracts the attention of the traveller. In every quarter of Paris you see one or two sober and respectable-looking façades painted dark red and lettered simply, “Établissement Duval.” The Duval restaurants are wonderfully organized, exceedingly cheap, and all the food sold in them is good and genuine; these establishments now serve an average of three million meals a year. The visitor may often find it convenient in his wanderings about Paris to lunch in one of these Duval restaurants, if he is out of the way of any other well-known restaurant. In all of them he will find the food of the same quality, and the prices the same. As he enters, the doorkeeper will hand him a bulletin, on which all that he eats and drinks will be checked off, and which bulletin, when duly paid and stamped, will serve him as a passport when he leaves the establishment. The prices at the Duvals are very low; no dish costs more than one franc, and most of them only fifty or sixty centimes; wine costs twenty centimes a carafon, which is equivalent to one glassful, or one franc a bottle and upwards; coffee and cognac costs forty centimes. The Duval restaurant may be frequented with impunity, for nothing poisonous or deleterious is sold there; the only disadvantage is that the portions being very small, a hungry man, in order to satisfy his appetite, will need so many portions, that his bill will mount up to as much as if he had lunched or dined in an establishment of superior standing and comfort. The Bouillon Duval stands in the same relation to the regular restaurant as the omnibus or tram-car stands to the victoria; as somebody has said, c’est l’omnibus du ventre.

At length we come to the restaurants proper, the restaurants where one dines in the true sense of the term. It is commonly believed that the first-class restaurants in Paris are very dear. The Café Anglais, you will be told, charges twelve francs for a beefsteak for two, and fifteen francs for a Rouen duck. Yes, but the beefsteak in question is a Chateaubriand, a kernel of delicate meat cut in the heart of the filet,—meat that is sold at two and a half francs a pound by the butcher—and the duck costs eight or nine francs at the poulterer’s. Good provisions in Paris are dear, and when one considers the heavy expenses of the first-class restaurants, one cannot complain of their charges.

As regards perfection of cooking, the Café Anglais heads the list. Its soups and sauces are exquisite; a sole “à l’Orly,” “Colbert,” “normande,” “à la Join-ville,” or “au vin blanc,” may be eaten there in perfection, and there is no restaurant in Paris where you can get a more delicate “sauce diable” served to a grilled fowl. The two great tests of a French kitchen are soups and sauces; if these are good, you may rest assured that everything else will be good.

In the same category with the Café Anglais, both as regards quality of food and price, may be placed Durand’s, opposite the Madeleine, and Adolphe and Pellé behind the Opéra. Next come the Maison d’Or, the Café de la Paix, Bignon, and the Café de Paris, in the Avenue de l’Opéra, Voisin in the rue Cambon, the old Véfour in the Palais Royal, the Père Lathuile, in the Avenue de Clichy, and Fayot, opposite the Luxembourg Palace. At all these restaurants you can dine delicately and drink as good wines as are still to be had in France. Voisin and Foyot, especially, have choice Burgundies of incomparable fineness.

The third category of restaurants includes the Café Riche, which years ago belonged to the first category; Brébant’s, now a general Bouillon, at the corner of Boulevard Montmartre; Chevilliard, at the Rond-Point des Champs Élysées; Laurent, and Ledoyen, in the Champs Élysées; Champeaux, Place de la Bourse, where you dine in a perpetual winter garden; Edouard, Place Boieldieu, opposite the Opéra Comique; Wepler, Place Clichy; La Pérouse, on the Quai des Grands Augustins; Maire, at the corner of the Boulevard de Strasbourg and the Boulevard St. Denis; Marguery, next door to the Gymnase theatre; Perroncel, rue du Havre, opposite the Gare Saint Lazare. In the Bois du Boulogne the restaurants of Madrid, and of the Pavilion d’Armenonville are much frequented in the summer by gay and smart people: the prices are about the same as at the restaurants in town of the second category, that is to say, two can dine there modestly with ordinary wine for a louis.

I presume that the traveller comes to Paris to taste Parisian cooking, and therefore I shall not recommend him to try the pseudo-English cuisine of Weber or Lucas in the rue Royale and Place de la Madeleine, or the Russian restaurant in the rue Marivaux, or the Hungarian restaurant in the rue Rougemont. There remain then to be mentioned only a few special establishments, such as the Pied de Mouton near the Central Market, and the famous tripe restaurant in the rue Montorgueil. There are several restaurants in Paris which make a specialty of Bouillabaisse; but I do not recommend that dish in Paris, for the simple reason that it is not the real article. In the Parisian Bouillabaisse several of the fish elements are wanting because they cannot bear transportation from the seaside. The traveller gourmet will prefer to wait until chance leads him to Marseilles, where the reigning chief of the great dynasty of Roubion will serve him this savoury dish on a balcony overlooking the blue Mediterranean. The café concerts in the Champs Élysées are also much frequented by open air diners in the summer. The spectacle is curious and amusing, but the gourmet will flee the promiscuity and bustle of their dear and mediocre cuisine.

To give precise details as to price is difficult. One may say generally that at the Café Anglais two persons can dine delicately and well without stint as to good wines or choice of dishes, for about two louis (forty francs). On the other hand, the single man who is prepared to spend not less than seven francs on his dinner may enter boldly any restaurant in Paris, from the Café Anglais downward, and dine for that sum on soup, one dish, cheese, and half a bottle of wine. For ten or twelve francs one may dine simply but abundantly almost anywhere, except at the very tip-top houses, such as the Café Anglais, Durand’s, and Adolphe and Pellé’s. By way of practical hints I will subjoin a few observations.

Beware of hors d’œuvres and baskets of fruit, for their influence on the total of your bill is alarming. If you are alone, resolutely refuse radishes and butter, or rather leave them untouched on the table before you; if you have invited a friend to dinner, offer him hors d’œuvres and hope that he will refuse; if you are with a lady, both hors d’œuvres and the basket of fruit are obligatory. Eve offered fruit to Adam; the least we sons of Adam can do is to return the politeness.

The real gourmet eats by candle-light, because, as Nestor Roqueplan said, “rein n’est laid comme une sauce vue au soleil.”

When you enter a restaurant refuse as a rule the place that is offered you. Choose your own table, and if it is breakfast-time secure a view through the window and a view of the whole restaurant, and if possible let the light strike on the table from your left hand.

Preserve your freedom of will, but do not try to impose it. You are the master, it is true, and yet to a certain extent you must obey. Consult, therefore, with the maître d’hôtel, consider what he recommends, and accept it if it be to your taste, for in the good restaurants there is no question of passing off stale food. The maître d’hôtel is flattered when you ask his advice, and it is his business to be acquainted with the special and daily resources of the larder. At places like the Café Anglais the written menu mentions only a few very ordinary dishes, and you will inspire respect by not asking for the carte. At Bignon’s do not trouble yourself about the carte; ask advice of the portly Louis, and do not disdain his counsel. In cookery as in love much confidence is necessary.

Always ask for the wine list, la carte des vins, even if you end by selecting vin ordinaire. The richest people in the land drink vin ordinaire with their dinner, and dilute it with simple water. The traveller, therefore, need not fear to do likewise even in the most gorgeous restaurants. Champagne is not much drunk by French gourmets, and such champagnes as the Paris restaurants keep is sweeter than our people generally like. To the connoisseur in champagne I would say, “Do not drink champagne in France, for the best crûs are to be found in England and Russia.” If you desire fine red or white wines you will find the nomenclature and the prices on the list; choose your Beaune, Pomard, Volnay, Nuits, or Moulin à Vent, your Tavel, Tonnerre, or Chambertin according to your taste and purse; consult confidentially with the butler, and mind that you always address him as sommelier, and not garçon. The sommelier is inferior to the garçon in the hierarchy of table service, as you will see from his more humble and respectful demeanor.

Ask for l’addition, and not either la carte or la note, which savours of provincialism. Verify your change rapidly, and see that no pieces lurk on the plate beneath the bill. Be liberal towards the waiter, for it is the pourboire that secures you a smile when you arrive and a smile when you leave, a helping hand when you are struggling into your overcoat, obliging and ready service, and the appearance, nay, even the reality of friendship. In the three categories of restaurants mentioned above do not give the waiter less than fifty centimes, however modest your bill, and the more delicate and satisfactory your dinner, the more liberal let your pourboire be, ranging from one franc up to five, calculated generally at the rate of five per cent. on the total of your bill.