From a Seine bridge one notes the wizard liberties the reckless moon takes with the colonnaded dome of the sombre Pantheon. And, more astonishing still, the magic tricks it plays with the adorned and enormous bulk of Notre Dame -now veiling, now revealing massive buttress and delicate rose-window, some recessed arch tucked full of sculptured saints all snugly foot to head, or a goblin band of hideous gargoyles that leer ghoulishly down from out the purple haze of the towers. One could well wish, however, for a closer view of that exquisite survivor of the Valois kings, the peerless Tour Saint-Jacques, at the first sight of which the most indifferent exclaim with delight over so rare a vision of grace and lace like beauty, over long slender windows delicately foliated, over traceries of stone like petrified festoons, and an ensemble so suggestive of some dainty ivory-carving a million times enlarged.