of this song. The truth is that De
Lisle, though he may have written the
poetry in M. Dietrick's house, was not
the author of the music, though he may
have adapted it to his poetry, and
improved upon or extended it. The main
portions of the melody are to be found in a
German song composed many years
anterior to the French Revolution, which,
with French words, was performed in
Paris in 1782 at the private theatre of
Madame de Montesson, the morganatic
wife of that Duke of Orleans, who was
afterwards so well known as Philippe
Egalité. The Hymn, which Rouget de
Lisle fitted to this melody, was originally
called by its author The Song of the
Army of the Rhine, and soon became
popular in all parts of France, except in
Paris. But it was destined to make its
mark there also, and to receive from the
Parisians the name by which it is likely
to be known for ever. It was to this tune,
and singing this song, that the determined
soldiers of Marseilles marched through
every town and city on their long tramp to
Paris; and this song and tune, then heard
in combination in Paris for the first time,
took such possession of the fancy and the
ear of the Parisians as temporarily to drive
all other music out of their minds and
memories. Knowing no other name to
call it by, they called it the Marseillaise.

The song was intended by its soldier
author to rouse the French people against
the foreign foes who were threatening the
liberty and independence of the country
from the German frontier; but another
and a very different destiny was reserved
for it. Its true mission—to use a now
fashionable word—was to be domestic and
not foreign; not to aid in the overthrow of
kings and generals abroad, but of kings
and potentates at home, who opposed
themselves to the will of the sovereign people.
The song is ever ominous of civil strife
when heard in France. It is the
shibboleth of revolution. Heard in the Paris
faubourgs among the workmen, it awakens
the minds of thoughtful as well as of timid
men to thoughts of impending evil and
change of systems and of dynasties. Happy
is the country whose popular song is on
the side of law and order. Such is ours.
Unhappy is, or may be, the country whose
song beloved of the people, and having the
power to stir their imagination and their
passion, is on the side of revolution and
civic strife. Were there no such a song as
the Marseillaise in existence, Napoleon the
Third might well dispense with the services
of many thousands of his soldiers.

Who shall say after this of the cheapest
of cheap bargains, that it was bought for
an old song? There are some old songs—
and especially the four named in this little
notice—whose worth for good or for evil is
not to be estimated so lightly.

TO BOULOGNE BY DRY LAND.

The readers of this journal and its
predecessor, HOUSEHOLD WORDS, have been kept
informed with tolerable exactness of the
various projects that have from time to
time arisen, for crossing the Channel in
carriages, with the least possible delay.
One of the last, and by no means the worst
of these schemes, is a vast steam raft,
which should receive the railway train on
board when it reaches the coast, should
start with it immediately, and should land
it on the opposite shore: whence it would
proceed, stokers, conductors, passengers,
and all, without let or hindrance, to its
destination. This is practised on some
American rivers. But we may doubt
whether any American or other river so
crossed, is subject to such weather as
occasionally sweeps up and down Channel.
For whatever reason, this scheme was not
seriously followed up by its proposer and
advocate, though it seems feasible, as a
fair-weather project.

It may be said, that in engineering
nothing is impossible: success being merely
a question of means. Only give Archimedes
his fulcrum and lever, and no doubt he could
lift a weight equal to the weight of the earth.
Nevertheless, in both the grand
Channel-crossing plans hitherto proposed—a
sub-marine tunnel and a tubular bridge—some
people have felt, at the bottom of their
heart and conscience and conviction, that
though there might be no impossibility,
there existed great uncertainty and
consequent danger. It is quite possible, by means
of steam and compressed air, to ventilate
a tunnel more than twenty miles long; but
if the ventilation fail (so argue these same
some people), those in the tunnel will be
suffocated. It is quite possible to make a
tunnel water-tight; but if, by any
accident, the water should make its entry, the
rats in the hole would hardly escape drowning.
It is quite possible to prop a tubular
bridge on piers planted in the sea; but let
a pier give way, through any cause (and
numerous causes are not wanting), and