bats we must understand the old, old women who can no longer labour, who are bald, and who sit in the chimmey-corners like Christine Besme, whom you know as well as I do. That poor Christine is so thin, and has so little hair, that every one who sees her thinks, That is a bat.'" 66 Yes, yes, yes," said my uncle in a peculiar tone, slowly nodding his head; it is clear, mole-catcher; it is quite clear. Now I understand your book; it is an admirable thing! "Men will give their money to the blind and to the old women from a spirit of charity," replied the mole-catcher, "and that will be the end of misery in this world; there will be no more poor in seventy weeks, which are not weeks of days, but weeks of months, and they will sharpen their swords into plough-shares, that they may cultivate the earth and live in peace.' "Does it tell of our victory?" asked Koffel, as he drew up to the stove. My uncle and the mole-catcher looked at each other astonished.” "What victory?" asked the mole-catcher. "Eh! that of day before yesterday at Kaiserslautern. They are talking of nothing but that through the whole village; it was Richter, Monsieur Richter, who returned from down there about two o'clock, who brought the news. At the Crock of Gold they have already emptied more than fifty bottles in honour of the Prussians; the Republicans are thoroughly routed." Scarcely had he spoken of the Republicans when we turned towards the alcove, reflecting that the Frenchwoman was there, and that she was overhearing us. This troubled us, for she was a worthy woman, and we thought that this news might do her much harm. My uncle raised his hand, shaking his head with an expression of distress; then he rose gently and half opened the curtains to see if Madame Thérèse was asleep. This explanation of the moles and the bats struck me so much that I remained with my eyes wide open, imagining that I saw this odd transformation going on in the corner where my uncle sat. I was listen- Is it you, monsieur doctor?" she iming no longer, and the voice of the mole-mediately said. For an hour I have been catcher continued his monotonous reading, listening to the predictions of the molewhen the door opened again. I was all catcher. I have heard all." goose-flesh. Had old blind Harich and old "Ah! Madame Thérèse," said my uncle, Christine entered, arm in arm, in their new "these are false tidings." forms, I should not have been more frightened. I turned my head, my mouth wide open, and I breathed; it was our friend Koffel who came to see us. I had to look twice before I really recognised him, the ideas of the bats and the moles had so possessed my imagination. Koffel had on his old grey knit winter suit, his cap drawn down over his neck, and his large shoes down at heel, into which he put some old slippers when he went out. He kept his knees bent and his hands in his pockets as if he were chilled; innumerable flakes of snow covered him. ing?" 66 "I do not think so, monsieur doctor. If a battle was fought day before yesterday at Kaiserslautern, we must have been worsted; otherwise the French would have marched immediately to Landau to raise the blockade of that place and to cut off the retreat of the Austrians; their right wing would have passed through the village." Then, raising her voice, Monsieur Koffel," she said, "will you tell me any details that you know?" Of all the distant things of that time, this, above all, has remained in my memory; for on that night we saw what a woman we had saved, and we understood also what was that French race which had risen in crowds to convert the world. The mole-catcher had taken the candle from the table, and we had all gone into the alcove, I at the foot of the bed, Scipio against my leg. I looked on in silence, and for the first time I saw that Madame Thérèse had become so thin that she resembled a man. Her bony face with its straight nose, its hollow eyes, and sharply drawn chin was resting on her hand; her arm, dry and brown, came out almost to the elbow No, but we have no need of it," replied my uncle, in a tone of slightly comic good-from Lisbeth's coarse chemise; a red silk humour; "we have the mole-catcher's book, which tells of the present, the past, and the future." handkerchief, tied in front, fell backward upon her emaciated neck; her magnificent black hair could not be seen, except a very little above her ears, from which hung two large gold hoops. And that which above all fixed my attention was a copper medal hanging from her neck representing the head of a young girl with a head-dress in the form of a helmet; this relic attracted my eyes. I have since known that it was the symbol of the Republic, but then I thought it was the Holy Virgin of the French. "Listen; it is clear that we have been repulsed. But do not think, monsieur doctor, that that distresses me; no, this affair which appears considerable to you is a small thing to me. I have seen that same Brunswick get as far even as Champagne at the head of a hundred thousand veterans, issue proclamations which had no common sense, menace all France, and then retreat before peasants in wooden shoes, the bayonet at his back, even to Prussia. My father, a poor schoolmaster, became chief of the battalion, my brothers from poor work As the mole-catcher raised the candle behind us, the whole alcove was full of light; Madame Thérèse looked at Koffel, who fixed his eyes on Uncle Jacob as if to asking men became captains through their him what he ought to do. "There are rumours going through the village," said he, with embarrassment, "but Richter does not deserve two-pence worth of .credence." "No matter for that, Monsieur Koffel; tell me about it," said she; " monsieur doctor, you will permit it, will you not?" 66 Certainly," said my uncle, with an air of regret. "But it is not necessary to believe all that is reported." "No; there is exageration, I perfectly understand; but it is better to know things than to figure to one's self a thousand fancies; it torments less." courage, and I, behind, with little Jean, in my cart, we followed him, after the defiles of L'Argonne and the battle of Valmy. Do not think, then, that such things frighten me. We are not one hundred thousand men, nor two hundred thousand; we are six millions of peasants who desire to eat the bread ourselves that we have painfully gained by our labor. That is just, and God is with us." As she spoke she became animated; she extended her long thin arm. The molecatcher, my uncle, and Koffel looked at each other astonished. "It is not one defeat, nor twenty, nor a Koffel then began to relate that two days hundred, which can overthrow us," she rebefore, the French had attacked Kaiserslau-sumed; "when one of us falls, ten others tern, and that from seven o'clock in the morning till nightfall they had made terrible assaults to gain the entrenchments; that the Prussians had destroyed them by thousands; that nothing was to be seen but the dead in the ravines, on the hill-side, along the roads, and in the Lauter; that the French had abandoned everything, their canteens, their powder wagons, their guns, and their knapsacks; that there was a general slaughter of them, and that the Brunswick cavalry sent out to pursue them made crowds of prisoners. Madame Thérèse, her chin resting upon her hand, her eyes fixed on the end of the alcove, and her lips compressed, said nothing. She listened, and from time to time, when Koffel wanted to stop, for to relate these things before that poor woman gave him a great deal of pain, she turned a very calm look towards him, and he went on, saying, "They also say this or that, but I do not believe it." At last he was silent, and Madame Thérèse for some moments continued to reflect. Then, as my uncle said,-"All this is only You report; nothing positive is known. would do wrong to distress yourself, Madame Thérèse," she rose up lightly to support herself against the head-board of the bedstead, and said to us in a very quiet tone, arise. It is not for the king of Prussia, nor for the emperor of Germany, that we march: it is for the abolition of privileges of every kind, for liberty, for justice, for the rights of man! If we are to be vanquished, it is necessary to exterminate us to the very last," said she, with a strange smile, "and that is not so easy as it may seem. Only it is very sad that so many thousands of brave people on your side should suffer themselves to be killed for kings and nobles who are their greatest enemies, when simple good sense would tell them they should join with us to expel all those oppressors of the poor; yes, that is very sad, and gives me more pain than all beside." Having thus spoken, she lay down again, and Uncle Jacob, astonished by the justness of her words, remained silent for some moments. The mole-catcher and Koffel looked at each other without saying anything; but it was plainly to be seen that the reflections of the Frenchwoman had struck them, and that they thought,—“That woman is right." "I know it, for you are a just man, and we wish for justice only." "Try to forget all this," said Uncle Jacob again; "you need nothing now but quietness, to regain good health." "I will try, monsieur doctor." We then came out of the alcove, and my uncle, looking at us dreamily, said, 66 It is very near ten o'clock; let us go to bed; it is time." He conducted the mole-catcher and Koffel out, and shut the bolt as usual. As for me, I was already climbing the stairs. That night I heard my uncle walk for a long time in his room. He came and went with a slow and grave step, like a man whe is reflecting. At last all sounds ceased, and by the grace of God I fell asleep. From Good Words. A LOVE-LETTER. You ask me, friend, to tell you of my wife! I say you sooth, however strange it seem, Blind world! to pass and pass my darling by, My lily of the vale, where she did lie Snug in her own green leaves, and never see much My friend, that we are scarcely angels yet. I have not grasped at glitter-missed the gold: In other worlds this wife of mine may be Is she a beauty? The lip's live rose, the head superbly crowned, Eyes that when fathomed farthest heaven is found! I chose for worth, not show, nor choose for them Who would have the casket richer than the gem! That wife is poor, whate'er her dower may be, Who hath no beauty save what all may see; No mystery of the human and divine; No other face to unveil within the shrine Uplighted only for one worshipper, And to one love alone familiar; No veil to lift from the familiar face Daily, and show the unfamiliar grace. Eyes shine for others, but divinely dim And dewy do they grow only for him! And her dear face transformed he doth find, All mirror to the beauty in his mind. The beauty worn by bird and butterfly, Lives on the outside lustrous to the eye; But still as nobler grow hue, form, and face, More inward is shy Beauty's dwelling-place. And there's a beauty fashioned in the mould Transmitted from the Beautiful of old, That from some family-face its best doth win: But my love's beauty cometh from within, The loveliness of love made visible, To feature which the Sculptor Form is dull. Not the mere charms of cheek, or chin, or lip, That vanish on a week's acquaintanceship; But that crown-beauty which we cannot clasp, The beauty that eludes even Death's grave-grasp. At forty what we yearn for in a wife Is a calm haven 'mid the seas of strife; One fresh, green summit in the waste of life, That gathers dew from heaven, and tenderly Turns it to drops of life for you or me; A spring of healing in the desert sand; A palm for shadow in a weary land; A mind that doth not dwell so far apart That we can find no entrance save at heart; One that at equal step with us may walk, And kiss at equal stature in our talk; And scale the loftiest life still arm-in-arm, As well as nestle in the valleys warm. And here's my Rest, where sun and shadow meet; Green leaves above, cool grasses at my feet, My darling sitting with her hand in mine, Her eyes made mournful search, mine laughed I should have sung that we had reached the land And now I cannot sing my ladye's praise The tongue is tied too, with the heart at full. The stirring of the sap in bole and bough - I look no more without, and think to win The treasures that are only found within ; And, after many years, have grown too wise To search our world for some lost paradise, The next life's possibilities in this. Or feel unhappy should we chance to miss 'Tis here we follow, but hereafter find, The goal all golden miraged in the mind. That Age of Gold behind us, and the isles Where dwell the blessed, are but as the smiles Reflected from a heaven that onward lies; The gold of sundown caught in orient skies. And yet if any bit of Eden bloom And husband; in one flesh two spirits paired, We cannot see Love with our mortal sight, bear; Though but a twinkle through their cloud of care. I ask not that my life should break in bloom, For flowers to crown my love or wreathe my tomb; The tender voice whereby the All-loving breaks | And climb with more at heart than they can Ah, love! my life is not so bare of leaf But we can find a nest for shelter, if The bounteous heavens should bless us from And in our branches cradle some wee dove. At the hill-top I reach my resting-place, 'Tis true, just as we feel our foreheads crowned wave, Thenceforth our steps go downward to the grave. Gentle illumination for the shade. Something, dear Lord, thou hast for me to say, A something that shall shine aloft and mark Nor do I ask the laurel for my brow, OCTOBER. Oн crickets, hush your boding song! Oh, mournful wind of midnight, cease Nor take that wailing under-tone Oh, goldenest month of all the throng! So haply it may last more long! Who wasteth in thy plenteous prime And then a Winter all unblest, Imperfect dreams and broken rest. One wholly happy, perfect year, Than this commingled hope and fear. And makes us old before our time. So pour your light, October skies, Oh, fairest skies which ever are! |