Now let us go down, and take a nearer look at what is going on below.
At the foot of the column you will see a group of children collected
round a man with a large basket of little tin carriages which are
constructed in such a way that they will go with the wind on a smooth
place. For some distance round the column is laid the asphaltum
pavement. These little tin carriages run well across this wide
platform; and you might imagine that the tin horses carried them. It is
a pleasant thing to see the delight of the children, and a lesson in
good nature and good manners, to see how carefully all the passers by
turn aside, so as not to interrupt the progress of these pretty toys.

Look up at the beautiful bas reliefs in bronze, on this noble column,
giving the history of so many fierce battles and so much bloodshed, and
at the military hero on the top, and then at these laughing, merry
children at the foot, running after the tin carriages that go with the
wind. Is it not a strange and moving contrast? Does it not tell a story
that all of us hope may be one day true; when war shall belong only to
history, and when peace shall possess the earth?

Around the base of this beautiful column many of those who served under
Bonaparte, or who remember him with affection, hang wreaths and
garlands as expressions of their tender remembrance. This is still
done; these memorials are ever there. At one time this was forbidden by
the government, but to no purpose. At last, an officer was stationed at
the foot of the column with a water engine, and with orders to play it
upon any one who should bring any votive offerings to the fallen hero.
A lady, whose love and admiration could not be so intimidated, came the
next day in her carriage, which she filled with wreaths of flowers, and
stood up in it, and threw wreath after wreath at the foot of the
column, crying out, as each one fell, "Will you play your engine upon
me?" But not a drop of water was sent at her, and she deposited all her
offerings, and went away unharmed. I suppose a Frenchman would sooner
have been shot than have done any thing to quench the enthusiasm of
this heroic woman.

One thing struck me much in Paris, and most agreeably, and that is the
good appearance of the children. This is not confined to the rich; you
will see a very poor woman leading her child, really well dressed. You
never see boys idling in the streets; you never hear them swearing and
quarrelling. If you