W

HOEVER has crossed the Place de la Concorde in Paris, and seen the emblematic statue of Alsace-Lorraine with the mourning wreaths laid at her feet, gains but a slight idea of the grief of every Frenchman for the loss of this province.

To be sure France had held it but a few hundred years, yet in that time it had grown so integral a part of her, that the wound caused by dismemberment has never ceased to bleed.

Metz, now the capital of Alsace-Lorraine, is a city of the plain, and lies spread out in a fertile basin, with several branches of the Moselle running through it. First settled by the Romans, it afterward became the chief city of one of the tribes of Gauls, and in the fifth century was overrun and plundered, first by the Vandals, and fifty years later by the Huns. Then the Franks had it, and the city which had become known as Mettis became a free city of the German Empire. Thus it remained till 1552, when it was taken and brilliantly defended by the French, who retained it till 1870, when it was surrendered to the German Empire.

After the Romans ceased to occupy Metz, its most interesting history dates from 1552, when the French gained possession of it. The position of the city from a strategic point of view was most valuable, and to render it safer it has always been strongly fortified. Vauban planned many of these outworks, and while France held the city it was considered one of the greatest fortresses in Europe. The fortifications, which have been restored and completed since the Germans took possession, enclose the city in a belt fifteen miles in circumference, and there is now established here a garrison of twenty thousand men. Soldiers are turned out from the inexorable German mill at the rate of many thousands a year.

The visitor to Metz today is confronted with rather curious state of affairs. After a period of thirty years conqueror and conquered usually mix, old sores are healed, old grievances forgotten. It is not so at Metz. Every Frenchman who by hook or crook could leave the town has done so, often at great loss pecuniarily. Those who remain never forget for an instant their nationality and their loss. They resent being addressed by the traveler in German, make a point of always replying in French, call all the objects of interest in their city by their French names, though they have been rechristened with German ones, and quite hold themselves aloof from the German population. These latter have come in great numbers, making more than a third of the population of about sixty thousand.

The behavior of the Germans seems to a cursory visitor quite exemplary. They are civil, not unduly obtrusive, they pay cheerfully for whatever they get, and their government has done much for the benefit of the city.

There is no species of gayety so attractive as that connected with military life. To see this fine fortified town with all its works actively occupied is most interesting, and the Emperor William is frequently here to oversee the great garrison.

In every direction one passes squads of men. The hotels are full of officers in the splendid and brilliant uniforms of the German army. The streets echo with the clatter of swords and the ring of spurred heels. Indeed you may almost forgive the brisk bands that wake you at dawn of a lovely summer's day, for the music is so spirited, the horses step out with such a jingle and prance that you regret that the morning exercises are not held in the near-by public square.

Nowhere on earth can the making of a soldier be seen to such advantage as in this city. From the green first-year man to the

general covered with medals and orders they fill the town. That inflexible law which forces every German to perform his portion of military service, necessitates even the noble, if not professionally in the military service, to take his place in the ranks with peasants or laborers. He may complete his active service in one year, always provided he can buy his own uniform and equipment, pay for his living expenses, and pass a rigid examination with regard to his educational acquirements.

He may when off duty array himself in purple and fine linen, and bear himself in a very haughty manner, but when in the ranks he is but an indistinguishable unit, and must suffer with his mates often undue severity and hardship.

In a yard near the cathedral we saw the awkward squad being drilled by a sergeant. None of the men were in uniform, and the business suit rubbed shoulders with the blouse.

The sergeant was armed with a long slender lath and was quite unsparing in its use, treating these men as if they were little

boys, and on several occasions giving a sharp slap on the cheek. This did not seem to be resented in the least, but it was not pleasant to look at.

Among the many interesting objects in the city, none is more delightful than the medieval German Gate, Porte des Allemands. Here is established a custom house, where the peasants from the surrounding country are examined for goodness knows what contraband articles, as they enter the city.

The rosy-cheeked lasses, with heads guiltless of hats, and with sabots on their feet, hold up their baskets for inspection. If the girl is very pretty, not more than a finger will be thrust among her eggs and vegetables. If she is old and unpleasing there is likely to be quite a stir up of the contents. of the panier, at which she hardly dares protest, save in her thoughts.

The Esplanade is one of Metz's greatest charms, it reaches to the edge of the highest fortification. At sunset all the world gathers here to gossip, to rest, to look out over the smiling plain with its winding rivers, beautiful homes, and carefully tended farms.

By moonlight there are few scenes more enchanting even in the region of the charmed Moselle.

Wandering over Europe, the fields of battles have always proved points of interest. Having viewed Agincourt, Marston Moor, and Marathon, Crécy and Waterloo, what was more natural than to drive out to Gravelotte, and see the place where the battle was fought that decided the fate of the French Empire?

The country is peaceful enough now, the valley of Gravelotte is fresh and green, even though today the plow turns up helmet points and bullets; peaceful, though the fields and hillsides are dotted with crosses and monuments marking the burial-place of officers or bodies of men who performed brilliant action where they fell.

Scarcely a cross indicates the grave of a single man, but marks the resting-place of many of both nations, such inscriptions as the following not being uncommon:

"Here rest in God twenty-nine Prussians,
and sixty-nine Frenchmen."

Whether the capitulation of Metz by Marshal Bazaine was treason or not is too much of a question for the tourist to decide. Certainly, though, it is the first time that 173,000 men, 6,000 officers, 50 generals, 3 marshals, a fortified city with eagles, guns, and munitions of war, was ever handed over to an enemy in such fashion.

The first siege of Metz, in 1552, shines as a star in the banner of France. The second siege is yet a wound that quivers.

We must be grateful, however, that the bombardment which was to reduce the city never took place. It has left for our pleasure the fine Gothic cathedral, begun in the thirteenth century. The glass of this cathedral is superb, going back to the thirteenth, fourteenth, and fifteenth centuries. So large and fine are the windows that the walls are hardly more than frames to hold them, giving a light and springing effect to the interior.

Why is it that the class of sacristans as a whole render themselves so obnoxious to travelers? This cathedral was defaced by a

disagreeable, snuffy old man, who kept demanding trinkgeld, even running down the street in pursuit, as we differed from him in regard to the value of his services.

The lovely cathedral at Winchester is forever scarred in memory by a terrible man there who betrayed an intimacy with the bones of William Rufus which was absolutely profane. "I've seen every one of 'is bones spread out on the pavement right 'ere!"

We spoke of the Moselle as flowing through the city of Metz in several branches. These give to those parts of the town a look almost Venetian, for the houses rise high on either side of the hemmed-in stream, and the boards which project from the footpath are used by the people as platforms from which they do their washing.

Picturesque as this is, to see the washerwomen in their true glory, one must go beyond the city limits. There she stands in the flowing water, in a tub with a bench-like

STREET IN METZ.

and soaped, finally wrung by stout arms and laid on the grass to dry. After viewing this process we no longer wondered at the huge holes in our linen, and discovered why the Germans have a washing done but once a month.

Few tourists go to Metz, and yet it is a most attractive city. The surrounding country is beautiful. There are many fine Roman remains thereabout, none of them finer than the old aqueduct arches by which in its Roman days Metz was supplied with water.

The little hamlet of Jouy-aux-Arches has a whole row of these arches, eleven in number, still standing. They tower above the surrounding trees and dominate the landscape for many a mile, and date from the time of Drusus (38 B. C. to 9 B. C.), a very respectable measure of antiquity!

The Moselle itself makes a delightful waterway for those who pull an oar. Its wooded shores alternate with wide sweeps of cultivated land, and is diversified with charming chauteaux like Blettange, or medieval towns like Sierck or Kontz.

There are many quaint customs preserved in these towns, such as St. John's festival on June 23rd when the fire-wheel is rolled down the hill past a certain well, guarded by the women and girls. If the wheel reaches the river a generous vintage is expected. If it does not reach the well, Sierck takes from Kontz as toll a basket of cherries. If the flaming wheel passes the well but falls short of the river, Kontz gets a cask of wine from Sierck.

This ceremony has taken place between these two towns from Roman days, some antiquarians tracing it back to pagan rites. Legend and tradition float on every wave of Moselle's winding stream, many of which are embodied in the poem " Mosella" written by the Latin poet Ansonius, fifteen hundred years ago.

You cannot row a mile without stopping

The unhappy clothes are laid on the bench, rubbed, soused, beaten with paddles, twisted,

ing your boat to roam inland for an hour or so, leaving your boat and its contents quite unguarded, secure that it will be untouched.