promise: "The Empire is peace." The Empire is peace! superb declaration! magnificent lie! After having said that, he might declare war against the whole of Europe without having anything to fear from his people. He had found a simple, neat, and striking formula, capable of appealing to all minds, and against which facts would be no argument.

He made war against China, Mexico, Russia, Austria against all the world. What did it matter? There are people yet who speak with sincere conviction of the eighteen years of tranquillity he gave to France: "The Empire is peace."

The Maréchal MacMahon himself has left as a souvenir of his career to power: "Here I am, here I remain!" And it was by a shaft from Gambetta that he was, in his turn, knocked down: "Submission or dismissal."

With these two words, more powerful than a revolution, more formidable than the barricades, more invincible than an army, more redoubtable than all the votes, the tribune turned out the soldier, crushed his glory, and destroyed his power and prestige.

As to those who govern France at this moment, they must fall; for they are devoid of wit: they will fall; for in the day of danger, in the day of disturbance, in the inevitable moment of see-saw, they will not be capa ble of making France laugh, and of disarming her.

THE MARSEILLAISE.

ROUGET DE L'ISLE.

YE sons of Freedom, wake to glory!
Hark! hark! what myriads bid you rise-
Your children, wives, and grandsires hoary,
Behold their tears and hear their cries!
Shall hateful tyrants, mischiefs breeding,
With hireling hosts, a ruffian band,
Affright and desolate the land,
While peace and liberty lie bleeding?

The avenging sword unsheath:

March on march on! all hearts resolved
On victory or death.

Now, now, the dangerous storm is rolling,
Which treacherous kings confederate raise;
The dogs of war, let loose, are howling,
And lo! our fields and cities blaze;
And shall we basely view the ruin,
While lawless force, with guilty stride,
Spreads desolation far and wide,

With crimes and blood his hands imbruing?

To arms! to arms! ye brave,

The avenging sword unsheath:

March on march on! all hearts resolved

On victory or death.

With luxury and pride surrounded,

The vile, insatiate despots dare

(Their thirst of power and gold unbounded)
To mete and vend the light and air.
Like beasts of burden would they load us,
Like gods would bid their slaves adore;
But man is man, and who is more?
Then shall they longer lash and goad us?
To arms! to arms! ye brave,

The avenging sword unsheath:

March on march on! all hearts resolved
On victory or death.

O Liberty! can man resign thee,
Once having felt thy generous flame?
Can dungeons, bolts, or bars confine thee,
Or whips thy noble spirit tame?
Too long the world has wept bewailing
That Falsehood's dagger tyrants wield;
But Freedom is our sword and shield,
And all their arts are unavailing.

To arms! to arms! ye brave,

The avenging sword unsheath:

March on march on! all hearts resolved
On victory or death.

KING AND PEOPLE.

VICTOR HUGO.

ONE idiotic habit of the people is to attribute to the

King what they do themselves.

They fight whose is the glory?

The King's.

They pay whose is the generosity?

The King's.

Then the people love him for being so rich.

The King receives a crown from the poor, and returns them a farthing.

How generous he is!

The colossus which is the pedestal contemplates the pygmy which is the statue. How great is this myrmidon! he is on my back. A dwarf has an excellent way of being taller than a giant: it is to perch himself on his shoulders. But that the giant should allow it, there is the wonder; and that he should admire the height of the dwarf, there is the folly.

Simplicity of mankind! The equestrian statue reserved for kings alone is an excellent figure of royalty: the horse is the people; only that the horse becomes transfigured by degrees. It begins in an ass; it ends in a lion.

Then it throws its rider, and you have 1642 in England and 1789 in France. Sometimes it devours him, and then you have England in 1649 and France in 1792!

HOW THEY BROUGHT THE GOOD NEWS FROM GHENT TO AIX.

ROBERT BROWNING.

I SPRANG to the stirrup, and Joris, and he;

I galloped, Dirck galloped, we galloped all three;

"Good speed! " cried the watch, as the gate-bolts

undrew,

"Speed!" echoed the wall to us, galloping through;

Behind shut the postern, the lights sank to rest,
And into the midnight we galloped abreast.

Not a word to each other: we kept the great pace
Neck and neck, stride by stride, never changing our

place.

I turned in my saddle and made its girths tight,
Then shortened each stirrup and set the pique right,
Re-buckled the check-strap, chained slacker the bit;
Nor galloped less steadily Roland a whit.

'Twas moonset at starting, but while we drew near
Lokeren, the cocks crew, and twilight dawned clear.
At Boom a great yellow star came out to see,
At Düffeld 'twas morning as plain as could be:

And from Mechelm church-steeple we heard the halfchime,

So Joris broke silence with, "Yet there is time."

At Aerschot up leaped of a sudden the Sun,
And against him the cattle stood back every one
To stare through the mist at us, galloping past,
And I saw my stout galloper, Roland, at last,
With resolute shoulders each butting away
The haze, as some bluff river headland its spray.

And his low head and crest, just one sharp ear bent back For my voice, and the other pricked out on his track;.