rascal. Of course, being so, he is one of the
most popular of the French second-hand
sovereigns,—almost as popular as our merry
scoundrel, Second of that line, and our bluff
bigamist, Eighth of that ilk, are with us.
It is astonishing what a good fellow a ruffian
with a crown on is—especially if he be
second-hand.

These, and many more shreds and patches
of second-hand royalty, are to be found in
that Musée des Souverains of the Louvre
which the reader may or may not have seen.
In either case, I would advise said reader
to visit it whenever he or she comes to
Paris. It may be somewhat consoling to
a man whose state is low, to find that
even sovereigns—even the Holy Alliance
—even the allied potentates—are subject
to the indignity of having their old clothes
hung up to show; and that the coronation
mantle dangles from a peg, in the long
run, even as the masquerade domino, the
cast-off uniform, or the threadbare great-coat.
MR. CARLYLE might come hither, and find not
a new philosophy, but fresh materials for its
application. And I think some sovereigns—
yea, even some of the potentates whose august
names are to be found in the Almanach de
Gotha of this present year—might come here
too, and, going, might leave behind them some
second-hand ideas, some second-hand
prejudices, some second-hand rascalities, some
second-hand tomfooleries, which might be
advantageously hung on pegs beside the
second-hand sovereignties of a few centuries
back.

THE TWO SPIRITS.

        LAST night, when weary silence fell on all,
            And starless skies arose so dim and vast,
        I heard the Spirit of the Present call
            Upon the sleeping Spirit of the Past.
        Far off and near, I saw their radiance shine,
        And listened while they spoke of deeds divine

                     THE SPIRIT OF THE PAST.

                       My deeds are writ in iron;
                         My glory stands alone;
                      A veil of shadowy honour
                         Upon my tombs is thrown;
                      The great names of my heroes
                         Like gems in history lie:
                      To live they deemed ignoble,
                         Had they the chance to die!

                     THE SPIRIT OF THE PRESENT.

                     My children, too, are honoured,
                       Dear shall their memory be
                     To the proud lands that own them;
                       Dearer than thine to thee
                     For, though they hold that sacred
                       Is God's great gift of life,
                     At the first call of duty
                       They rush into the strife!

                      THE SPIRIT OF THE PAST.

                     Then, with all valiant precepts
                       Woman's soft heart was fraught;
                     "Death, not dishonour," echoed
                       The war-cry she had taught.
                     Fearless and glad, those mothers,
                       At bloody deaths elate,
                     Cried out they bore their children
                       Only for such a fate!

                    THE SPIRIT OF THE PRESENT.

                   Though such stern laws of honour
                       Are faded now away,
                   Yet many a mourning mother,
                      With nobler grief than they,
                   Bows down in sad submission:
                       The heroes of the fight
                   Learnt at her knee the lesson
                       "For God and for the Right!"

                      THE SPIRIT OF THE PAST.

                  No voice there spake of sorrow:
                      They saw their noblest fall
                  With no repining murmur;
                      Stern Fate was lord of all!
                  And when the loved ones perished,
                      One cry alone arose,
                  Waking the startled echoes,
                      "Vengeance upon our foes!"

                   THE SPIRIT OF THE PRESENT.

                 Grief dwells in France and England
                     For many a noble son;
                  Yet louder than the sorrow,
                     "Thy will, O God, be done!"
                  From desolate homes is rising
                     One prayer, " Let carnage cease!
                  On friends and foes have mercy,
                     O Lord, and give us peace!"

                  THE SPIRIT OF THE PAST.

                   Then, every hearth was honoured
                       That sent its children forth,
                   To spread their country's glory,
                       And gain her south or north.
                   Then, little recked they numbers,
                       No band would ever fly,
                   But stern and resolute they stood
                       To conquer or to die.

                    THE SPIRIT OF THE PRESENT.

                    And now from France and England
                       Their dearest and their best
                    Go forth to succour freedom.
                       To help the much oppressed;
                    Now, let the far-off Future
                       And Past bow down to-day,
                    Before the few young hearts that hold
                       Whole armaments at bay.

                  THE SPIRIT OF THE PAST.

                  Then, each one strove for honour,
                      Each for a deathless name;
                   Love, home, rest, joy, were offered
                       As sacrifice to Fame.
                   They longed that in far ages
                       Their deeds might still be told,
                    And distant times and nations
                      Their names in honour hold.

                THE SPIRIT OF THE PRESENT.

                    Though nursed by such old legends,
                       Our heroes of to-day
                     Go cheerfully to battle
                        As children go to play;