For us—we know that earth is fair,
And life is sweet, and love is strong,
And two, close knit in mutual ties,
The whole world's wealth may well despise—
Its folly, madness, shame, and wrong.

We are not proud, with a fool's pride,—
Nor cowards, to be held in thrall
By pelf or lineage, face or lands;—
One honest heart, two honest hands,—
Are worth far more than Moreton Hall.

Therefore our strong love breaks like tow
The bars that weaker souls appal:
I take her hand and hold it fast,
Knowing she'll love me to the last—
My dearest maid of Moreton Hall!

HOW TO MAKE SOLDIERS.

ALTHOUGH I had not been in my native country,
France, since I was five years old, the mayor
of my parish in due time called at the conscription
urn for Jules Meudon (which is my name),
and as Jules was not forthcoming, and there
was no proof of his death, his worship came to
the conclusion that I was alive, aged twenty, and
among those to be drawn for. Whereupon he
did draw for me, and drew one of the worst
numbers in the urn, whereby I was condemned
to seven years' military service. Monsieur then
intimated that, unless recruit Jules Meudon
presented himself within six months after that
date, he would be declared refractory, amenable
to court-martial, and likely to get from six
months to two years' imprisonment. But in the
mean time, as the state required fifty soldiers out
of every hundred men liable to the conscription,
the quasi lucky holder of number fifty-one need
not congratulate himself upon being exempt, for
he would have to serve for the absentee, Jules
Meudon.

The government issues every year a decree
calling out so many men—say twenty thousand.
The mayors throughout France immediately send
in their account of the names of the young men
who will attain the age of one-and-twenty when
the draught is required. Lots are always drawn
several months, sometimes a whole year, before
the men are enrolled. Supposing the state to
require twenty thousand soldiers, if the returns
show that there are forty thousand men of the
necessary age, fifty out of every hundred will be
called upon to serve.

The case is often hard for a poor widow who
is supported solely by the labour of her children.
Her eldest son, maybe, is a lazy vagabond who
will not work: he is exempt from the conscription,
as being the eldest son of a widow; but the second,
who is an industrious youth, must draw. He
draws a black number, and must serve. The
poor widow remains then without bread. I
know of several cases like this. I have heard
from recruits, sad over-true tales about widows,
crippled fathers, brothers and sisters, who have
been reduced to starvation (and sometimes worse
than that) by the departure of Louis, or Henri,
or Charles.

As for me, an absentee recruit, having failed
to present myself when I was one-and-twenty, I
was declared refractory. But I had no permanent
inducement to remain abroad, so I resolved
to go home to my own country, and as a volunteer
accept my destiny. I would plead an
absence from France of eighteen years, and take
my chance with the war minister. In England
I thought I could not live upon eight pounds a
month, so I went to France to enlist, where I
should have to live upon twelve francs ninety
centimes. I sold my wardrobe, took with me a
small hand-trunk, and departed.

On my arrival in Paris, my English education
suggested to me that I had best at once
inquire for the address of a good lawyer, so that I
might learn exactly how I stood with regard to
the authorities, and be able to defend myself if
necessary. A gentleman of that profession
defined my position very precisely, said I was a
refractory recruit from unavoidable circumstances,
and that I had nothing to fear save and except
the procureur-impérial, or public prosecutor.

The books said that the act of accusation, the
hearing of witnesses, their confrontation with
the accused, and the passing of the sentence,
must be terminated within twice twenty-four
hours after the arrest. I saw also with pleasure
that clause thirty-four recommended, " That the
mildest measures should prevail in the infliction
of punishments, unless the severer ones obtained
at least two votes above the former"—that is to
say, that if the seven judges who would try me
were to come " to the decision of inflicting on
me the maximum penalty by a majority of one
vote only, the president would be bound to
sentence me to the minimum." And I was also
glad to read that the court would be made to
appreciate the importance of the functions they
were about to discharge, by clause eighteen,
which bids " officers appointed to sit on a court-
martial, proceed in a body to hear the celebration
of mass before trial." Knowing exactly what I
had to expect, I went and gave myself up at the
recruiting-office in the Rue Cherche Midi—an
odd name, Seek Mid-day-street! From time
immemorial the soldiers' prisons have been in this
street; and as in French military prisons you only
get one meal a day, and that at mid-day, you may
be sure that this hour is anxiously looked for.

I found no difficulty in being admitted to the
presence of the colonel, who is chief at the
recruiting-office. A most accessible person, for
good reasons. He desired me to be seated, and
inquired the nature of my business. He was
smiling and affable; but the moment I told
him I was a refractory recruit, I distinctly saw
his moustache bristle, his brow knit, and the
pupil of his eye diminish sensibly. Somehow or
other he suddenly got another voice from
somewhere. He rose from his seat, and in doing so,
without any apparent sign or motion, bade me
stand.

"Your name?" he said. " Jules Meudon,
Monsieur le Colonel." "Profession?" "None."