And the nations do but murmur, snarling at each other's heels. Meanwhile the blacksmith stood in the doorway, smoking, and curiously surveying the groom's attire. "There's shoulders!" said my companion, in a low, admiring tone. "And look at them arms!" They were, indeed, of Herculean mould. "Double X is a very good thing, sir," said the groom; "and thrubble X is better. Roast beef is good. Christmas-pudden is good. In steaks they can't come nigh us; and their drink is rot. But I tell you what it is, sir," said he, dropping his voice a little, "whatever they live on, frogs or frigazees, I have seen some here, both men and dogs, as one of our'n could n't tackle three not by a very long chalk!" on "And yet three is the regulation number," said I, laughing. "I mean to, sir," he cried, " directly I get back. I shall say, 'Jack,' says I, 'is your head a horseshoe?' says I. Is its nature hard knocks?' says I. Oh, you may leave me alone to pitch it pretty strong!" I laughed; and shortly afterwards he bade me "Good-day," and walked on. I looked after him, as he trudged along the road, with his savage dog at his heels. "Now there goes a practical missionary of peace," thought I. That bull-baiting fellow will do more to check warlike tendencies in the stable-yards and cock-pits of his neighbourhood, than a dozen theoretic philanthropists. He mixes with the very class whose prejudices and brutal propensities stand in the most need of correction. He speaks their language and understands their particular logic. And, in whatever pot-houses and prize-rings he tells of these French blacksmiths, he will propagate feelings of international esteem, and uncon He shook his head, still eyeing the unconsciously disseminate germs of order and fraterscious blacksmith, who puffed away cheerfully, looking up and down the road. "And he don't look like a White feather, neither; do he sir?" said the groom. He certainly did not; in any sense of the expression. "And wheresomever he come from, there's plenty more of the same sort?" continued the nity. . . . "Go thy ways, then, rough apostle!" said I. "Thou, too, hast thy appointed task! Toi aussi, tu apporteras une pierreau temple de l'Humanité!"". "Au temple de l'Humanité!" echoed a gruff voice. "C'est ça. Bravo!" I looked round, and saw the blacksmith still leaning against the door-post. There was a good-humored smile upon his grimy face; and he nodded pleasantly to me. "Au temple de l'Humanité!" he repeated. "Ca me va! Bravo!" These words, which I had unconsciously spoken aloud, are the charms of one of Festeau's popular songs. There was an easy frankness in the blacksmith's bearing, and in his jovial eye, that pleased me mightily. So I approached, and gave him "Good-day!" "Monsieur is English," said he ; 66 so was the other; so was the dog. English all three: I could have told you anywhere." "And how?" I inquired, tickled by this flattering juxtaposition. "Ilim, by his breeches and boots," said the blacksmith, pointing along the road with the stem of his pipe. "Him," he added, depressing the tip of that instrument, "by his big, ugly head. You," he concluded, bringing the pipe, by a swivel movement of his wrist, to bear upon my chest, "by your big shirt-collars, and by the way your words grate against your teeth as they come out." "Why, I used to think like Jack Bullock, as keeps the British Lion down our mews; and now I think quite the contrairy. I says to myself, for instance, Tom,' says I, 'why put your head in the place of that anvil?' I." "You should put that question to Jack Bul- ha! ha!" lock," I observed, smiling. says 66 Undeniable signs," said I, laughing. Oyez, Ingleesh, Milor. 'Ow you do? Ha! And he laughed heartily. "Well, well!" he resumed, checking himself, "I shall have great pleasure in making Mad"what signifies a little rust on the key, so it │ame's acquaintance." opens the door? I understand you perfectly. You understand our songs, too. is the best that ever was forged. shew it you." And that one Tenez! I can He entered his shed as he spoke; and opening the drawer of his work-bench, produced a dirty scroll of paper, which unrolled itself in his hands to the length of fully two yards; so that, while he read one end, the other trailed upon the ground. Each part of the paper had come in for its share of the mud; and I thought that these vicissitudes of the poems, alternately bespattered and caressed, might typify, aptly enough, the chequered fortunes of the poets. "Le voici!" said he, deepening with his thumb, as he spoke, the complexion of the indicated verse. Monsieur knows the tune?" And he shouted forth the first stanza in a stentorian voice, waving his tongs vigorously to the measure. "Chorus, my lads!" he cried, turning to his two workmen. And they all three roared in chorus,— Soldats de paix! apportez une pierre I joined in lustily; and so we went through the whole song-some twenty stanzas. "Bravo!” cried the jolly blacksmith, when we had finished. "That's hearty. That's what I like. Ca me va!" "It is a phalansterian song," I remarked. "Is Monsieur for that system?" "Ma foi!" he replied, "I don't rightly know. It is a hardish word to understand. I am for all men being jolly together. Que diable! Life is short enough." "In that case you are not for the invasion of England?' said I. He made no reply; but put his pipe in his mouth, and rapidly got up its steam; looking hard at my face the while. He said nothing, but went out into the road, and stepped to the door of a vine-clad cottage adjoining the workshop; I following. He lifted the latch, and threw open the door. "Entrez," said he. I bowed, and went in. It was a large, low room, a sort of parlorkitchen, tiled with glazed hexagons of bright red clay, and divided into two unequal compartments by a high screen stretching half across it. The smaller compartment was fitted up as a cuisine, with burnished copper stew-pans, and The more spacious comother such utensils. partment bore the aspect of a cottage sittingroom; and looked comfortable enough with its red drugget, its book-shelf, and its gaudily colored prints. One of these, I remember, represented the Virgin Mary, with her chest laid open so as to exhibit her heart, marked with a cross, and surmounted by a flame. Two others, the subject of which I did not then catch, on account of the glare on the glass, were decorated with bunches of holly and mistletoe. Over the brisk wood fire on the hearth a great boiler hung, rumbling, and emitting steam around the lid — which kept quivering, and jumping up, to let out the larger puffs. In front of the fire stood a table, covered with a clean napkin; and on another, in the recess of the window, stood a wicker cage, in which a beautiful white dove, with soft dark eyes, and delicate rose-dipt feet, sat peckling its snowy plumage. Near the cage lay a work-box; and some coarse blue knitting, transfixed with two shining needles. "Ma femme!" called the blacksmith. He had scarcely spoken when the latch rattled, the door opened, and the figure of a woman, with a basket in her hand, stood sharply defined against the light. The position made her face indistinguishable, but exhibited to advantage the outline of a neat tournure. "Voila ma femme!" said the blacksmith. "Terrible rumours are afloat, you know," I “Wife, here is an Englishman come to see you.” insisted. "Dover is to be sacked some dark I bowed; and the figure immediately advanced night, suddenly; London entered before morn- into the room, presenting to my inquisitive reing; and the tricolor hoisted on the Tower bat-gard features of singular beauty; a delicate tlements by noon. But you'd hardly, I fancy, forge pikes for that plot?" He remained silent. A curious smile played, flickering, about his mouth; and he poured out great puffs of blue smoke- - still eyeing me intently. All at once he exclaimed, "I will show you my wife." ('Je m'en vais vous montrer ma femme.') There was something so odd in this abrupt proposal, that I with difficulty suppressed a smile. "Monsieur is very good," I replied, bowing. blonde complexion (Gods! what a contrast to the smith's!) pure blue eyes; an open, waveless brow, shaded with auburn hair; and a sweet, cheerful smile, quite enchanting to behold. She saluted me in English! and welcomed me, as a countryman, with evident pleasure. I was delighted with the adventure; and I said so. We sat down, and she chatted away eagerly about England - asking me all sorts of questions, especially concerning Dover, her native place. Then, how did your marriage come about?" "I came over with Captain Smith's family as lady's-maid; and used to see Pierre every Sunday at church. He never would keep his eyes The end of it was, that Captain Smith off me. left and I stayed behind." "But how in the world did you manage your courtship he not understanding English, nor you French?” "Oh, it was easy enough! His eyes spoke so plainly!" to "And you?" "I? Oh, I nodded "Pierre was at work, you know; and I used Well, but in the evenings," said I-"the long winter evenings?" "Oh, they passed so quickly! We loved each other so dearly!" said she, earnestly; and then she stopped short and blushed. -- The child ran impetuously to his father, and strove to pluck the great tongs out of his handwith sinister glances at the dog. The blacksmith took the little fellow up in his arms; and pressed him fondly against his hairy chest; and ran his black fingers through his golden curls. "Let me go, father! "cried the child, strughis eyes still fixed on the dog. gling; The blacksmith laughed; and patted his glowing cheeks; and set him gently down; somewhat dirtier, to say truth, than when he took him up. "What a figure the child is!" said his mother to me, confidentially. "Pierre always forgets; --but I would n't say a word for the world, he is so fond of him!: !" "Haud indecoro pulvere!" thought I, looking at the smith's black hands. Here the dog, having walked round the room, and taken a passing snuff at every thing, returned to the door; and setting his fore-paws against it, lifted the latch with his nose, and let himself out, the child following with a furious war-whoop. "He's off!" cried the delighted blacksmith "the rascal's off with my tongs!" Order being thus restored, I inquired of my fair country woman whether her father and mother were still alive, and whether she ever saw them? "What glowing pictures" thought I, "what happy recollections that rapid flush sums up!" At this moment there was a scratching at the door; the string of the latch was violently agitated; and immediately afterwards the great mastiff burst into the room, dragging after him a little chubby urchin, some three or four years old, who held on dauntlessly by the dog's collar, and sorely buffeted his ribs. The dog only no-holly and mistletoe round them." ticed these assaults by a good-natured wagging of his tail; and, from time to time, he turned his head, and licked the child's face with his broad tongue. “Oh yes!” she replied. “They live at Dover with my brother, who is a pilot, and maintains them. He often comes across in his boat; and every year he takes me over to spend Christmas with them. Last time I took my dear mother over a warm jacket of my own knitting; and Pierre sent father some brandy; and my mother gave us those beautiful pictures, and all the "You sha n't get away!” cried the little hero, out of breath. "How dare you lick my face!" Gently, Pierre, dear," said his mother. "Poor Phanor, come here!" The noble brute laid his great head in her lap, and looked up into her face with his deep, friendly eyes the very eyes that had, with such a wolfish fire, glared battle on the bulldog.. merely because he was a stranger! "Make us but known to each other, nations or dogs," thought I, "and all bad blood is healed. As Shakspeare says on like occasion— I moved so as to see the pictures. They were colored lithographs; one of Queen Victoria; the other of the Prince of Wales, in the character of the Royal Tar.' "Eh bien!" cried the blacksmith, with the same lambent, ironical smile, that I had before remarked, "What do you think now? How about those pikes? What do you say, Mary, bichette, shall we go across some dark night, and sack Dover, and burn the old folks in their beds?" "Fi, donc! Pierre," said she, looking at him affectionately. "Ah!" said the jolly blacksmith, "time was I would have fought fifty battles rather than see those pictures hanging up in my house. But I was young, then, and fond of fighting-like my boy. I knew no better. Que diable! we have all been children." Here there was a rap at the door; which being opened, a little French girl, with a brown face and bright-red arms, came in ; and delivered a message from her mother, craving the loan of a casserole which being immediately supplied, the little postulant vanished, like a slide out of a magic lantern. "You are on friendly terms, I see, with your French neighbours," said I, to my blue-eyed acquaintance. 66 "Oh yes!" she replied. They are all very kind; though at first, some of them didn't like Pierre having married une Anglaise. Especially M. Papouff." "And who is M. Papouff?" "An old soldier, who has served in Spain, and has only one leg, one arm, and one eye. He is covered with scars, and wears a great black patch. I believe he has a pension to live on; and he passes his time in smoking." "And he disapproved of the match?" Extremely. The more so that, when he came to see us, I unfortunately made him angry." "How was that?" "He speaks a little Spanish; and, as I could not understand French, he spoke to me in Spanish." "An ingenious thought," said I, laughing. "He considered that the farther he went from what I didn't understand, the nearer he should get to something I did. So the schoolmaster explained it, at least" "And how did you manage "I made him no answer... tried to smile-" "Well, I considered all day; and, at dinnertime, I reminded Pierre that M. Papouff had only one arm. He made no answer, but sat thinking; and, after dinner, he put on his hat and went." "And M. Papouff was reconciled of course?” "I am sorry to say he was not. He spoke to us afterwards, certainly; but he always looked ?" askance in a manner. He even said to the how could I? I schoolmaster that the English were a bad set, and that no good would come of their harboring "You did not find that difficult," I interposed, in the village." with a bow. "Indeed I did, though!" she rejoined. "For when I did not answer, he raised his voicelouder and louder; till at last he absolutely bawled. He grew so red!" "And you?" "Oh, I was so frightened! He kept bringing his face nearer and nearer to mine, frowning dreadfully; and the great scar on his forehead mixed up with his frowns, and made him look quite hideous." "The cross-grained curmudgeon! I suppose you left him to himself?" "No, I was always thinking about it. I waited for Christmas, that I might talk it over with my dear mother. She is always right." "And what happened after all?” "I will tell you. On Christmas-eve, at my mother's, my brother Jack read us a most beautiful book, and made us all cry." "What book?" I inquired, with interest. "It was about Tiny Tim, a poor little lame boy, who nearly died, but did n't. Oh, a beau “And what happened?” "Nothing-only I shrank away rather and tiful book!” for years he never forgave me.” "And did his, dislike for you extend also to your husband?" "Not exactly so. But it made Pierre dislike him; and one day Pierre said a very unlucky thing." "What was that?" [I thought, with Wordsworth, of the simple beauty shown In labors that have touched the hearts of kings, And are endear'd to simple cottagers; and the Christmas Carol and its author rose higher than ever in my estimation.] "No, no! I begged Pierre to step round to his house, and ask him to come and dine with us, and particularly to say that we should have a dish of macaroni; for M. Papouff likes macaroni better than any thing." "He accepted, no doubt," said I, laughing. "Pierre said that he hummed a little; and asked, in a casual way, whether I dressed macaroni with scraped cheese. Now, the fact is, I used not. But Pierre said I did-and M. Papouff' promised to come." "And did he keep his word?" "Yes, and we asked the schoolmaster to meet him. I was in such a tremble when they came! Especially about the macaroni; which I almost smothered with scraped cheese. I was really afraid I had put too much." Tim falls ill, he left off smoking. I was SO pleased to see his pipe burn lower and lower! And at last it went out, and would you believe it?-great tears rolled down among his scars, and he sobbed and asked for some more punch." "Iron tears," thought I," down Pluto's cheek!" And so he was reconciled?" "No," said she, shaking her head, "quite the contrary. The very moment the schoolmaster had finished M. Papouff said, 'What Englishman could write a book like that?' And the schoolmaster said it was an Englishman that wrote it. But M. Papouff would n't believe it; and we could n't convince him all we could do." "And how did you proceed?" "We argued it out for a long while; and at last M. Papouff said, that if we could convince him that an Englishman wrote that book, he would unsay what he had said about the English being a bad set. But he added, just as he was leaving the house, that we could n't convince him and need n't try." "What had you to say to that?" "There was the puzzle. I wrote next day and asked my dear mother's advice. She always knows what to do." "And what did she suggest?" "She sent over her book the English book itself, which has the picture of Tiny Tim in it. And we had another dinner, and more macaroni; and we showed M. Papouff the picture of Tiny Tim, and the actual English print." "That must have convinced him." "Not in the least. He admitted the picture; but as for the printing, he said it was Spanish; and stood to it." "How did you get over that?" said I, laughing. "The schoolmaster went home and fetched his dictionary, an immense book, with Anglais et Français in gold letters on the back." "A capital thought," said I. "Yes. The schoolmaster managed most cunningly. He first shewed M. Papouff the gold printing on the back: there was the word 'Anglais,' you know; he could n't deny that. Then he opened the book, and shewed him the English words inside; and then, all of a sudden, he shewed him the very same words in the little book." "What did M. Papouff say to that?" "He said he would consider of it; and went home." "And what was the result of his consideration?" |