letion. Additions were made, and the building
was reconstructed in 1841. This has been the usual rallying site of
the Democratic party for centuries. Here occurred the tragedy of St.
Bartholomew in 1572; here mob-posts, gallows, and guillotines did the
work of a despotic misrule until 1789. (As we left for Brussels on the
evening of the 13th of July, all Paris was gayly decorated with red,
white, and blue bunting, ready to celebrate the event of July 14, 1789,
the fall of the Bastile.) On this date, 110 years ago, the captors of
the Bastile marched into this noted hall. Three days later Louis XVI
came here in procession from Versailles, followed by a dense mob." Here
Robespierre attempted suicide to avoid arrest, when five battalions
under Barras forced entrance to assault the Commune party, of which
Robespierre was head. Here, in 1848, Louis Blanc proclaimed the
institution of the Republic of France. This was a central spot during
the revolution of 1871. The leaders of the Commune party place in this
building barrels of gunpowder, and heaps of combustibles steeped in
petroleum, and on May 25th they succeeded in destroying with it 600
human lives. A new Hotel de Ville, one of the most magnificent buildings
in Europe, has replaced the old hall. This is open to visitors at all
hours. To study history at the spot where the event took place means
work as well as pleasure, so we took our luncheon and sleep in our car
while the train carried us to Brussels, and out to Braine-l'Alleud,
where, on the beautiful rolling plain of Belgium, June 18, 1805,
Napoleon Bonaparte met his Waterloo, and Wellington became England's
idol.

A railway baggageman was on our train returning to his home in
Cleveland, Ohio. In conversation, he said: "I have been with this
company for twenty-two years; have drawn two dollars a day, 365 days in
the year for that time, and I haven't a dollar in the world, but one,
and I gave it yesterday for a dog. But," said he, "I have a good woman
and the greatest little girl in the world, so I am happy." This is one
of a large class of persons who receive fair wages all their lives, and
yet die paupers, because they plan to spend all they make as they go
along. In conversation with a gruff, old Dutch conductor between Albany
and New York City, I ventured to ask him if he had ever crossed the
ocean. "No," he said, "nopody eber crosses de ocean, bud emigrants, and
beoble vat hab more muney dan prains."

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