the A. E. F. used to sing, walking down shadow-checkered streets. Kiosks with gay-colored , gray houses back of green trees, vivacious figures of Paris life, are all caught for us within this narrow strip of the Place St. Germain des Prés

The twisting cobbled streets of Montmartre no longer echo to the hobnailed boots of all the Allies. The fine houses and walled-in gardens are, as always, inviolable; but the grim little hotels that front the street now welcome back their Bohemian clientele

From a balcony one may sift out the comedy and tragedy of life in the streets of the Quartier Latin: a girl artist with swinging black cape; a grocer's boy with a long loaf of bread, unwrapped, under his arm; a mutilé on crutches; and all the passing pageantry of youth with ideals and of age with spent emotions

Perhaps these little Parisians have now forgotten that they endeared themselves to the doughboy by calling out "Shewing gum," but the doughboy remembers the sidewalk gosses of the Rue des Canettes rather than the bit of old Paris beyond in the Place St. Sulpice