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Rameau; and rising, he went to the door, opened it, looked forth, ascertained that the coast was clear, then reclosed the door as cautiously as a prudent man closes his pocket whenever shabby-genteel visitors appeal to him in the cause of his country, still more if they appeal in that of Humanity.

"Confrère," said the Pole, "this day a movement is to be made-a demonstration on behalf of your country

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"Of Humanity," again softly interposed the Italian.

"Attend and share it," said the Pole.

"Pardon me," said Rameau, "I do not know what you mean. I am now the editor of a journal in which the proprietor does not countenance violence; and if you come to me as a member of the Council, you must be aware that I should obey no orders but that of its president, whom I have not seen for nearly a year; indeed I know not if the Council still exists."

"The Council exists, and with it the obligations it imposes," replied Thaddeus.

"Pampered with luxury," here the Pole raised his voice, "do you dare to reject the voice of Poverty and Freedom?"

"Hush, dear, but too vehement confrère," murmured the bland Italian; "permit me to dispel the reasonable doubts of our confrère," and he took out of his breast-pocket a paper which he presented to Rameau; on it were written these words :

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to all members of the Council as significant of its president, Jean Lebeau.

"If I err not," said the Italian, "Citizen Rameau is our youngest confrère."

Rameau paused. The penalties for disobedience to an order of the President of the Council were too formidable to be disregarded. There could be no doubt that, though his name was not mentioned, he, Rameau, was accurately designated as the youngest member of the Council. Still, however he might have owed his present position to the recommendation of Lebeau, there was nothing in the conversation of M. de Mauléon which would warrant participation in a popular émeute by the editor of a journal belonging to that mocker of the mob. Ah! but-and here again he glanced over the paper-he was asked "not to act, but to observe." To observe was the duty of a journalist. might go to the demonstration as De Mauléon confessed he had gone to the Communist Club, a philosophical spectator.

He

"You do not disobey this order?" said the Pole, crossing his arms.

"I shall certainly go into the Faubourg du Temple this evening," answered Rameau, drily; "I have business that way."

"Bon!" said the Pole; "I did not think you would fail us, though you do edit a journal which says not a word on the duties that bind the French people to the resuscitation of Poland."

"And is not pronounced in decided accents upon the cause of the human race," put in the Italian, whispering.

"I do not write the political articles in 'Le Sens Commun,' answered Rameau; "and I suppose that our president is satisfied with them since he recommended me to the preference of the person who

does. Have you more to say? Pardon me, my time is precious, for it does not belong to me.'

"Eno!" said the Italian, "we will detain you no longer." Here, with bow and smile, he glided towards the door.

"Confrère," muttered the Pole, lingering, "you must have become very rich!-do not forget the wrongs of Poland-I am their Representative-I-speaking in that character, not as myself individually-I have not breakfasted!"

Rameau, too thoroughly Parisian not to be as lavish of his own money as he was envious of another's, slipped some pieces of gold into the Pole's hand. The Pole's bosom heaved with manly emotion: "These pieces bear the effigies of the tyrant -I accept them as redeemed from disgrace by their uses to Freedom."

"Share them with Signor Raselli in the name of the same cause," whispered Rameau, with a smile he might have plagiarised from De Mauléon.

The Italian, whose ear was inured to whispers, heard and turned round as he stood at the threshold.

"No, confrère of France-no, confrère of Poland-I am Italian. All ways to take the life of an enemy are honourable-no way is honourable which begs money from a friend."

An hour or so later, Rameau was driven in his comfortable coupé to the Faubourg du Temple.

Suddenly, at the angle of a street, his coachman was stopped-a roughlooking man appeared at the door -"Descend, mon petit bourgeois." Behind the rough-looking man were menacing faces.

Rameau was not physically a coward-very few Frenchmen are, still fewer Parisians; and still fewer, no matter what their birthplace, the men whom we call vain-the

men who over-much covet distinction, and over-much dread reproach.

"Why should I descend at your summons," said Rameau, haughtily. "Bah! Coachman, drive on !"

The rough-looking man opened the door, and silently extended a hand to Rameau, saying gently: "Take my advice, mon bourgeois. Get out-we want your carriage. It is a day of barricades-every little helps, even your coupé !"

While this man spoke others gesticulated; some shrieked out, "He is an employer, he thinks he can drive over the employed!" Some leader of the crowd-a Parisian crowd always has a classical leader, who has never read the classicsthundered forth, "Tarquin's car!" "Down with Tarquin !" Therewith came a yell, "A la lanterne-Tarquin!"

We Anglo-Saxons, of the old country or the new, are not familiarised to the dread roar of a populace delighted to have a Roman authority for tearing us to pieces; still Americans know what is Lynch law. Rameau was in danger of Lynch law, when suddenly a face not unknown to him interposed between himself and the rough-looking

man.

"Ha!" cried this new-comer, "My young confrère, Gustave Rameau, welcome! Citizens, make I answer for this patriot-I, Armand Monnier. He comes to help us. Is this the way you receive him?" Then in low voice to Rameau, "Come out. Give your coupé to the barricade. What matters such rubbish? Trust to me I expected you. Hist!-Lebeau bids me see that you are safe."

Rameau then, seeking to drape himself in majesty,-as the aristocrats of journalism in a city wherein no other aristocracy is recognised, naturally and commendably do, when ignorance combined with phy

sical strength asserts itself to be a power, beside which the power of knowledge is what a learned poodle is to a tiger-Rameau then descended from his coupé, and said to this Titan of labour, as a French marquis might have said to his valet, and as, when the French marquis has become a ghost of the past, the man who keeps a coupé says to the man who mends its wheels, "Honest fellow, I trust you."

Monnier led the journalist through the mob to the rear of the barricade hastily constructed. Here were as

sembled very motley groups.

The majority were ragged boys, the gamins of Paris, commingled with several women of no reputable appearance, some dingily, some gaudily apparelled. The crowd did not appear as if the business in hand was a very serious one. Amidst the din of voices the sound of laughter rose predominant, jests and bons mots flew from lip to lip. The astonishing good - humour of the Parisians was not yet excited into the ferocity that grows out of it by a street contest. It was less like a It was less like a popular émeute than a gathering of schoolboys, bent not less on fun than on mischief. But still, amid this gayer crowd were sinister, lowering faces; the fiercest were not those of the very poor, but rather of artisans who, to judge by their dress, seemed well off-of men belonging to yet higher grades. Rameau distinguished amongst these the médecin des pauvres, the philosophical atheist, sundry young longhaired artists, middle-aged writers for the Republican press, in close neighbourhood with ruffians of villainous aspect, who might have been newly returned from the galleys. None were regularly armed; still revolvers and muskets and long knives were by no means unfrequently interspersed among the rioters. The whole scene was to Rameau a con

fused panorama, and the dissonant tumult of yells and laughter, of menace and joke, began rapidly to act on his impressionable nerves. He felt that which is the prevalent character of a Parisian riot-the intoxication of an impulsive sympathy; coming there as a reluctant spectator, if action commenced, he would have been borne readily into the thick of the action-he could not have helped it; already he grew impatient of the suspense of strife. Monnier having deposited him safely with his back to a wall, at the corner of a street handy for flight, if flight became expedient, had left him for several minutes, having business elsewhere. Suddenly the whisper of the Italian stole into his ear- These men are fools. This is not the way to do business; this does not hurt the Robber of Nice -Garibaldi's Nice: they should have left it to me."

"What would you do?"

"I have invented a new machine," whispered the Friend of Humanity; "it would remove all at one blowlion and lioness, whelp and jackals

and then the Revolution if you will! not this paltry tumult. The cause of the human race is being frittered away. I am disgusted with Lebeau. Thrones are not overturned by gamins."

Before Rameau could answer, Monnier rejoined him. The artisan's face was overcast his lips compressed, yet quivering with indignation. "Brother," he said to Rameau, "to-day the cause is betrayed"-(the word trahi was just then coming into vogue at Paris)-"the blouses I counted on are recreant. I have just learned that all is quiet in the other quartiers where the rising was to have been simultaneous with this. We are in a guet-à-pens-the soldiers will be down on us in a few minutes; hark! don't you hear the distant tramp? Nothing for us but to die

like men. Our blood will be avenged later. Here," and he thrust a revolver into Rameau's hand. Then with a lusty voice that rang through the crowd, he shouted "Vive le peuple!" The rioters caught and reechoed the cry, mingled with other cries, "Vive la République! Vive le drapeau rouge!"

The shouts were yet at their full when a strong hand grasped Monnier's arm, and a clear, deep, but low voice thrilled through his ear"Obey !-I warned you. No fight to-day. Time not ripe. All that is needed is done-do not undo it. Hist! the sergens de ville are force enough to disperse the swarm of those gnats. Behind the sergens come soldiers who will not fraternise. Lose not one life to-day. The morrow when we shall need every man-nay, every gamin-will dawn soon. Answer not. Obey!" The

same strong hand, quitting its hold on Monnier, then seized Rameau by the wrist, and the same deep voice said, "Come with me." Rameau, turning in amaze, not unmixed with anger, saw beside him a tall man with sombrero hat pressed close over his head, and in the blouse of a labourer, but through such disguise he recognised the pale grey whiskers and green spectacles of Lebeau. He yielded passively to the grasp that led him away down the deserted street at the angle.

At the further end of that street, however, was heard the steady thud of hoofs.

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write down your impressions of what you have seen, and take your MS. to M. de Mauléon." Lebeau here quitted him.

Meanwhile all happened as Lebeau had predicted. The sergens de ville showed themselves in front of the barricades, a small troop of mounted soldiers appeared in the rear. The mob greeted the first with yells and a shower of stones; at the sight of the last they fled in all directions; and the sergens de ville, calmly scaling the barricades, carried off in triumph, as prisoners of war, 4 gamins, 3 women, and 1 Irishman loudly protesting innocence, and shrieking" Murther!" So ended that first inglorious rise against the plébiscite and the Empire, on the 14th of May 1870.

From Isaura Cicogna to Madame Grandmesnil.

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Her

Duplessis. She is in herself so charming in her combination of petulant wilfulness and guileless naïveté that she might sit as a model for one of your exquisite heroines. father, who is in great favourat Court, had tickets for the Salle des Etats of the Louvre to-day-when, as the journals will tell you, the results of the plébiscite were formally announced to the Emperor-and I accompanied him and Valérie. I felt, on entering the hall, as if I had been living for months in an atmosphere of false rumours, for those I chiefly meet in the circles of artists and men of letters, and the wits and flâneurs who haunt such circles, are nearly all

hostile to the Emperor. They agree, at least, in asserting the decline of his popularity-the failure of his intellectual powers; in predicting his downfall-deriding the notion of a successor in his son. Well, I know not how to reconcile these statements with the spectacle I have beheld to-day.

"In the chorus of acclamation amidst which the Emperor entered the hall, it seemed as if one heard the voice of the France he had just appealed to. If the Fates are really weaving woe and shame in his woof, it is in hues which, to mortal eyes, seem brilliant with glory and joy.

"You will read the address of the President of the Corps Legislatif; I wonder how it will strike you. I own fairly that me it wholly carried away. At each sentiment I murmured to myself, 'Is not this true? and, if true, are France and human nature ungrateful?'

"It is now,' said the President, 'eighteen years since France, wearied with confusion, and anxious for security, confiding in your genius and the Napoléonic dynasty, placed in your hands, together with the Imperial Crown, the authority which the public necessity demanded.' Then the address proceeded to enumerate the blessings that ensued-social order speedily restored-the welfare of all classes of society promoted-advances in commerce and manufactures to an extent hitherto unknown. Is not this true? and if so, are you, noble daughter of France, ungrateful?

"Then came words which touched me deeply-me, who, knowing nothing of politics, still feel the link that unites Art to Freedom: 'But from the first your Majesty has looked forward to the time when this concentration of power would no longer correspond to the aspirations of a tranquil and reassured country, and, foreseeing the

ciety, you proclaimed that "Liberty must be the crowning of the edifice." Passing then over the previous gradual advances in popular government, the President came to the 'present self-abnegation, unprecedented in history,' and to the vindication of that plébiscite which I have heard so assailed, viz.,-Fidelity to the great principle upon which the throne was founded, required that so important a modification ofa power bestowed by the people should not be made without the participation of the people themselves. Then, enumerating the millions who had welcomed the new form of government-the President paused a secondortwo, as if with suppressed emotion-and every one present held his breath, till, in a deeper voice, through which there ran a quiver that thrilled through the hall, he concluded with -France is with you; France places the cause of liberty under the protection of your dynasty and the great bodies of the State.' Is France with him? I know not; but if the malcontents of France had been in the hall at that moment, I believe they would have felt the power of that wonderful sympathy which compels all the hearts in great audiences to beat in accord, and would have answered, 'It is true.'

"All eyes now fixed on the Emperor, and I noticed few eyes which were not moist with tears. You know that calm unrevealing face of his-a face which sometimes disappoints expectation. But there is that in it which I have seen in no other, but which I can imagine to have been common to the Romans of old, the dignity that arises from self-control-an expression which seems removed from the elation of joy, the depression of sorrow-not unbecoming to one who has known great vicissitudes of Fortune, and is prepared alike for her frowns or her

progress of modern so- smiles.

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