As he whirled us, with a whip-report like a pistol-shot, into the train of traffic in the middle of the street, we felt that we were indeed in the city of appearances; and I put down in my mind, not having my note-book, that Paris lives up to its photographs.
"We mustn't forget our serious object, dear," said momma, as we rolled over the cobblestones--"our literary object.

What shall we note this morning?
The broad streets, the elegant shops--_do_ look at that one! Darling, is it absolutely necessary to go to the Louvre this morning?
There are some things we really need." Momma addressed the Senator.

I mentioned to her once that her way of doing it was almost English in its demonstrativeness, and my other parent told me privately he wished I hadn't--it aggravated it so.
"Augusta," said poppa, firmly, "I understand your feeling.

I take a human interest in those stores myself, which I do not expect this picture gallery, etc., to inspire in me.

But there the Louvre _is_, you see, and it's got to be done.