"citadine," and wild despair, at thoughts of being obliged to walk some miles into the inhabited part of Paris. At last we got a sort of omnibus, and rattled on towards the quarter of the Tuilleries.

'Twas nearly two, a. m. before we reached the Hotel Meurice; all were in bed; the porter pulled his latch-string which undid the door, whilst in a sleepy grumpy mood, and, rubbing his eyes and yawning most unceremoniously, he declared at once he had'nt got a vacant room in the house. "Je suis tres faché, Monsieur, c'est si tard-si mauvais temps-tout le monde est au lit-c'est impossible —Bon soir, Messieurs-Bon nuit-au revoir." Old travellers, however, were not so easily disposed of; so up the stairs we rushed, having pushed aside the deadly lively porter; and after having roused Mons. Calliez, the worthy master of this comfortable home, declared we could there be lodged, and would not go elsewhere. He knew the voices, which had often urged the same request before, and felt that it was little use to turn us into the dreary streets of Paris. He therefore at once found us rooms, ordered No. 29 “ au premier" to be prepared for his troublesome and tired guests; and thus had the satisfaction of obliging a "trio" of his oldest and most constant customers. Why add more? We slept in comfort, and were thoroughly at home again in this best of all good continental hotels, the wellconducted, highly favoured, and far-famed Hotel Meurice.

Our servant paid us an early visit on the morning of the 29th, looking the picture of fatigue and knockedaboutism. He had been kept dancing attendance at the Boulogne Custom House many hours, and thereby acquired a very favourable idea of French politeness and Imperial liberty. In vain had he tried to get possession of the fated Macintosh; the more he demanded restitution of his property, the less likely seemed his chance of getting it. But,

sunt certi denique fines

Quos ultra, &c. &c.

there are bounds even to French audacity and Sartorian bills; and at length distracted Hector grasped the well-known garment, and bore it off in triumph to the railway station. The train had gone; the waiting rooms were shut; the guards and porters had repaired to the nearest café, to smoke their pipes and quarrel over greasy cards and dirty dominoes; whilst he, shivering in the cold and wet, had to wait patiently for the midnight luggage train to Paris.

As this was Hector's first essay in the capacity of a travelling servant, he was nervously alive to the delights of being left behind without passport or money.

We spent the day at Paris after the usual manner of Englishmen, in looking at innumerable shops, buying all sorts of unnecessary nicknacks; getting completely fried in the burning sun, and cooling

F

down again with lemonade gazeupe, iced drinks, and crême glassé. We felt convinced that to remain in Paris but a single day would empty our pockets; lure us into the sweet ruin of Parisian idleness; and, in fact, "clue" us, as the French say, to their charming capital.

In spite, therefore, of Bals d'Eté, Fêtes des Fleurs, Diners aux trois Frères, Loungings in the Champs Elysés, Opera Comiques, Circles Imperial, and countless Theatres, we paid our bill, got our passports "vised," hired another "citadine," drove to the Strasbourg Railway Station, and at 3.30, sighed a fond adieu to hot and giddy Paris, after a hasty but pleasant scramble.

THE MOSS-ROSE;

A LOVE-SONG.

ΤΟ

O'er the dusky damask-rose
Lies a diamond-beaded veil,
Fluttering like the netted sail
Of a tiny fairy-ship;

And the fresh young morning blows
Kisses to it from a lip-

From a dewy, crimson lip-
Pausing with suspended breath,
Pausing just to peep beneath,

Where a wondrous beauty glows,
Shrined within the damask-rose.

Oh! my Love's exceeding fair!
Things of little note do rise
Into glories, if her eyes

(Ah! those dark and lustrous eyes!) For a moment linger there.

Love, thou art my Damask-rose:
'Neath the meshes that enclose
Fatal charm and winning grace,
Native to thy heavenly face,

Let me like the Zephyr dare!
For my Love's exceeding fair.

Though till now ungraced in story, scant although thy waters be,
Alma, roll those waters proudly, roll them proudly to the sea.
Yesterday, unnamed, unhonoured, but to wandering Tartar known,
Now thou art a voice for ever, to the world's four corners blown.
In two nations' annals written, thou art now a deathless name,
And a star for ever shining in their firmament of fame.
Many a great and ancient river, crowned with city, tower, and shrine,
Little streamlet, knows no magic, has no potency like thine;
Cannot shed the light thou sheddest around many a living head,
Cannot lend the light thou lendest to the memories of the dead;
Yea, nor all unsoothed their sorrow, who can, proudly mourning, say—
When the first strong burst of anguish shall have wept itself away-
"He has pass'd from us, the loved one; but he sleeps with them
that died

"By the Alma, at the winning of that terrible hill-side."

Yes; and in the days far onward, when we all are cold as those
Who beneath thy vines and willows on their hero-beds repose,
Thou, on England's banners blazoned with the famous fields of old,
Shalt, where other fields are winning, wave above the brave and bold;
And our sons unborn shall nerve them for some great deed to be done
By that twentieth of September, when the Alma's heights were won.
Oh! thou river, dear for ever to the gallant, to the free,

Alma, roll thy waters proudly, roll them proudly to the sea.

R. C. T.

(Idem Aliter.)

ALMA.

hortatrix animosi gloria lethi.

STATIUS.

Ad mare perpaucas, nondum celebrata poetis,

Undas Alma, tamen, volve superba tuas. Heri nota licet nusquam nisi vallibus Almæ,

Vox tamen "Alma" hodie, qua patet aura, sonat.
Nomen habes jamjam tu non mortale; duobus
Sidus et æternum gentibus "Alma" micas.
Mille lavent antiqua urbes, delubraque Divum,
Flumina,-sed desunt, rivule, honore tuo.
Alma doloris eras mater; tu, mater amanda,
Das quoque cum lacrymis gaudia plena simul.
Mater es Alma, necis;" sed læta voce susurras,
"Vita perit; mortis gloria certa manet.”
Abiit, heu! noster charus! Jam pace quiescit
"Fortis ubi victus victor et ipse silent;
Sanguinolentus humi, requiescit colle sub imo
"Quà dedit exultans Gloria mille neci."
Scilicet et posthac quum pace jacemus ut illi
Quos vites Almæ aut mæsta salicta tegunt,
Anglia preteritæ memorans insignia famæ
Gaudebit primum Te celebrare decus.
Forsan et heroas per sæcula mille futuros
Septembris pariet clarior iste dies.

Semper, in Oceanum, carissima fortibus, Alma,
Per juga montis aquas volve superba tuas.