They must have observed that my feelings were moved, for they came between me and the officer, as if to protect the latter.  ’Twas a kind movement, but useless; as I couldn’t have hurt him.

“Monsieur GAMBETTA,” I then went on to say, “don’t you think that this horrible epidemic of gas, that is now filling with its deleterious effluvia the brains and the throat of the French Government, ought to be stopped?  Don’t you think, Monsieur GAMBETTA, that you, yourself, could cut off your supply-pipe for a while and still have enough to light up with on public occasions?”

I rested my right fore-finger upon one side of my nose and struck an attitude of interrogation while putting these questions.  The Minister’s face turned to an ashen hue, and then the blood came coursing back like lava to the Crater’s surface, without breaking through.

“Fiends seize the man, is a minister of France to be insulted in his own capital?”

“Friend, calm yourself,” I said:  “Don’t let the crabs run through your brain like that.  Cool off.  Take those hot coppers out of your pantaloons and fan yourself a little.  That’s what’s the matter with France, to-day.  You Frenchmen fizzle, and crack, and shoot up into the air, and otherwise get away with yourselves so fast, that no wonder the Germans can’t always find you when they go for you.  Take my advice.  Stop running red-hot pokers down your backs.  Drink more Vichy water and less brandy.  Keep your sky-rockets till next year.  Lock your ‘language’ up in the dictionary.  Send VICTOR HUGO back to England.  Tie a church steeple round GEORGE FRANCIS TRAIN’S neck, and sink him off Toulon.  Burn all your proclamations.  Throw rhetoric to the dogs.  Put a head on the government that ain’t full of torpedoes.  Present a solid front to the enemy.  Simmer down generally, and talk reason to BISMARCK, and, on the honor of PUNCHINELLO, I can solemnly assure you that things won’t be so ‘speckled’ as they now are.”

Saying which, I gathered the drapery of my duster gracefully about me, and left.

DICK TINTO.

* * * * *

THE SHE THAT IS TO BE.

By a Prominent Member of Sorosis.

1.

    —­She stood!  The hurrying clouds wild drove—­
    —­The purpling aspect of the air...! 
    While her wild contour symbolized
    The Unity of Hope’s Despair!

2.

    And shall not We, when Life’s short span,
    Enveloping the Yet-To-Be—­
    Smiling candescent?—­Nay?—­Ah! well! 
    BE THAT OUR FUTURE DESTINY!!

* * * * *

POEMS OF THE CRADLE.

CANTO XI.

    Little Bo-Peep has lost his sheep,
    And don’t know where to find them. 
    Let them alone and they’ll come home,
    And bring their tails behind them.