first smoothed like a stone slab or tablet, and then this lion was
carved into and out of it in high relief by Bartholdi, the same man
that made the statue of Liberty in New York Harbour.

The siege of 1870 has been fixed for history in yet another way, and
one that shows you how the Church works on from one stem continually.
For there is a little church somewhere near or in Belfort (I do not
know where, I only heard of it) which, a local mason and painter being
told to decorate for so much, he amused himself by painting all round
it little pictures of the siege--of the cold, and the wounds, and the
heroism. This is indeed the way such things should be done, I mean by
men doing them for pleasure and of their own thought. And I have a
number of friends who agree with me in thinking this, that art should
not be competitive or industrial, but most of them go on to the very
strange conclusion that one should not own one's garden, nor one's
beehive, nor one's great noble house, nor one's pigsty, nor one's
railway shares, nor the very boots on one's feet. I say, out upon such
nonsense. Then they say to me, what about the concentration of the
means of production? And I say to them, what about the distribution of
the ownership of the concentrated means of production? And they shake
their heads sadly, and say it would never endure; and I say, try it
first and see. Then they fly into a rage.

When I lunched in Belfort (and at lunch, by the way, a poor man asked
me to use _all my influence_ for his son, who was an engineer in the
navy, and this he did because I had been boasting of my travels,
experiences, and grand acquaintances throughout the world)--when, I
say, I had lunched in a workman's cafe at Belfort, I set out again on
my road, and was very much put out to find that showers still kept on
falling.