heroes look down on the joyous crowd. Children troll their
hoops along the avenues or skip the rope under the clipped lindens,
whose boughs are now tinged a pale yellow by the bursting buds. The
swans glide about on a pond in the centre, begging bread of the
bystanders, who watch a miniature ship which the soft breeze carries
steadily across. Paris is unseen, but _heard_, on every side; only the
Column of Luxor and the Arc de Triomphe rise blue and grand above the
top of the forest. What with the sound of voices, the merry laughter of
the children and a host of smiling faces, the scene touches a happy
chord in one's heart, and he mingles with it, lost in pleasant reverie,
till the sounds fade away with the fading light.

Just below the Baths of the Louvre, there are several floating barges
belonging to the washer-women, anchored at the foot of the great stone
staircase leading down to the water. They stand there day after day,
beating their clothes upon flat boards and rinsing them in the Seine.
One day there seemed to have been a wedding or some other cause of
rejoicing among them, for a large number of the youngest were talking in
great glee on one of the platforms of the staircase, while a handsome,
German-looking youth stood near, with a guitar slung around his neck. He
struck up a lively air, and the girls fell into a droll sort of a dance.
They went at it heavily and roughly enough, but made up in good humor
what they lacked in grace; the older members of the craft looked up from
their work with satisfaction and many shouts of applause wore sent down
to them from the spectators on the Quai and the Pont Neuf. Not content
with this, they seized on some luckless men who were descending the
steps, and clasping them with their powerful right arms, spun them
around like so many tops and sent them whizzing off at a tangent. Loud
bursts of laughter greeted this performance, and the stout river maidens
returned to their dance with redoubled spirit.

Yesterday, the famous procession of the "_boeuf gras_" took place for
the second time, with great splendor. The order of march had been duly
announced beforehand, and by noon all the streets and squares through
which it was to pass, were crowded with waiting spectators. Mounted gens
d'armes rode constantly to and fro, to direct the passage of vehicles
and keep an open thoroughfare. Thousands of country peasants poured into
the city, the boys of whom were seen in all directions