the neighbourhood of Paris, has established a
somewhat whimsical regulation. He expects
—so he declares in the bills—everybody to
appear in decent and appropriate attire:
"but an exception to this arrangement is
made in the case of fathers of families."

What a happy privilege for age and fraternity,
to be allowed to wear a costume at once
inappropriate, and the reverse of decent!

There is another important revolution. A
great deal has been said and written of late
concerning the immorality and impolicy of
retaining the hangman as a minister of justice.
Who among the enlightened in our England
does not sympathise with the young Charles
Hugo for his sufferings in the cause? Who
does not feel gratitude to the old Victor
Hugo for his noble and more than eloquent
defence of his son? And who, among the
great and good, either in England or France,
does not blush that such suffering, such
eloquence, should be in vain?

In France, however, though the guillotine
still enjoys its reign, some of its worst evils
are avoided under the present system. As
far as the culprit is concerned, he is effectually
provided for as of yore. He is put to the
worst use to which, as Wilkes said, it was
possible to put a man; but the infamy to
societ—the brutalising effect of the spectacle
on the rabble—is to some extent avoided.
The executions are conducted in as private a
manner as is permitted by law: that is to
say, the day appointed for the proceeding is
kept strictly private, and is very difficult to be
ascertained. One morning it is announced
in the papers that all is over; and so the
matter ends. As a general rule, the
spectators are but few, consisting principally of
chance loiterers and loungers. Large crowds
of persons who have gained intelligence of the
event may nearly always be seen hastening
towards the spot; but, so silent have been
the whole arrangements, and so early the
hour for carrying them into effect, that
these amiable enthusiasts generally arrive too
late.

It is to be hoped that this little revolution
is only the foreshadowing of a great, calm,
moral, effectual one.

FORCE AND HIS MASTER.

WITH sleepless toil on land and wave,
A Giant served a Master wise;
This Giant seem'd a simple slave,
But was a Genie in disguise.

His voice was power, his breath was speed:
He gathered distance in his hands;
And in his track Time sow'd his seed
With double hours and swifter sands.

The Elements with whom he fought
And wrestled in his youthful wars,
Began, beholding all he wrought,
To feel a mightier will than theirs.

A mightier will, and one more firm
Of purpose, never turned aside;
With gentleness to spare the worm,
And strength to pluck the roots of pride.

The hearth, that was his place of birth,
With tenderness he loved, and coursed
The boundaries of the love-link'd earth
To do the missions it enforced.

And over oceans, rocks, and straits,
He flew; and in his arms he closed
The nations; till their warring fates
On one united faith reposed.

Well pleased the Master then beheld
A work that made him feel divine;
With majesty his bosom swell'd,
And thence he mused a dark design.

"Am I not guide where'er he goes?,
The ship hangs on the helmsman's skill;
From me the pilot impulse flows;
The Giant shall obey my will."

He in the Giant's youth had fear'd
The wild rebounding of his might;
And oft he trembled as he steer'd
To meet the terrors of his sight.

But now that use has conquered dread,
His tyrant spirits grow awake,—
So, on a day, he hail'd, and led
The Giant to his throne, and spake:—

"Thou see'st a region at thy feet;
'Tis threatened by each hostile wind
That blows from lands with foes replete,
And these are children of my kind.

"Thou, therefore, go, I charge thee, forth,
And gathering in thy forces all,
Disperse thyself, till South and North
And East and West before me fall.

"In ways and means I know thee strong,
For thou art Force, and therefore hast
Dominion over Right and Wrong,
And over all things—but the Past.

"Go!" but the Giant stirr'd no step;
His dark eyes flash'd, and trembling light
Electric ran across his lip,
And o'er his forehead hung with night.

White clouds wrapt round his rising form,
Where lightnings shot like veins of fire;
And with a voice like coining storm,
He answer'd from his smoke-wreath'd spire.

"O Master! as thy Slave I serve,
And work thy will in love and awe,
And from thy will I cannot swerve,
While thou obey'st thy higher Law.

"But know that, when thou fail'st to heed
That Law which is the Lord of thee,
And turnest to revenge and greed,
Thou art no longer Lord of me.

"It is my mission to create;
A mission I fulfil with joy:
Yet blackly am I arm'd by fate
With equal powers to destroy.