I first saw Notre Dame by moonlight.  The shadow of its stupendous front was thrown directly towards me, hiding the innumerable lines of the ornamental sculpture which cover its tall, square towers.  I walked forward until the interlacing, Moorish arches between them stood full against the moon, and the light, struggling through the quaint openings of the tracery, streamed in silver lines down into the shadow.  The square before it was quite deserted, for it stands on a lonely part of the Isle de la Cite, and it looked thus far more majestic and solemn than in the glaring daylight.

The great quadrangle of the Tuileries encloses the Place du Carrousel, in the centre of which stands a triumphal arch, erected by Napoleon after his Italian victories.  Standing in the middle of this arch, you look through the open passage in the central building of the palace, into the Gardens beyond.  Further on, in a direct line, the middle avenue of the Gardens extends away to the Place de la Concorde, where the Obelisk of Luxor makes a perpendicular line through your vista; still further goes the broad avenue through the Elysian Fields, until afar off, the Arc de l’Etoile, two miles distant, closes this view through the palace doorway.

Let us go through it, and on, to the Place de la Concorde, reserving the Gardens for another time.  What is there in Europe—­nay, in the world,—­equal to this?  In the centre, the mighty obelisk of red granite pierces the sky,—­on either hand showers of silver spray are thrown up from splendid bronze fountains—­statues and pillars of gilded bronze sweep in a grand circle around the square, and on each side magnificent vistas lead the eye off, and combine the distant with the near, to complete this unparalleled view!  Eastward, beyond the tall trees in the garden of the Tuileries, rises the long front of the Palace, with the tri-color floating above; westward, in front of us, is the Forest of the Elysian Fields, with the arch of triumph nearly a mile and a half distant, looking down from the end of the avenue, at the Barriere de Neuilly.  To the right and left are the marble fronts of the Church of the Madeleine and the Chamber of Deputies, the latter on the other side of the Seine.  Thus the groves and gardens of Paris—­the palace of her kings—­the proud monument of her sons’ glory—­and the masterpieces of modern French architecture are all embraced in this one splendid coup d’oeil.

Following the motley multitude to the bridge, I crossed and made my way to the Hotel des Invalides.  Along the esplanade, playful companies of children were running and tumbling in their sports over the green turf, which was as fresh as a meadow; while, not the least interesting feature of the scene, numbers of scarred and disabled veterans, in the livery of the Hospital, basked in the sunshine, watching with quiet satisfaction the gambols of the second generation they have seen arise.  What tales could they not