Thus the whole battalion passed onward and was swallowed up in the city gate."

It was June when they left the Mediterranean shores. Several weeks later they broke into Paris, chanting "La Marseillaise" as they came. On August tenth the Tuileries was stormed, the Reds of the Midi leading in the attack and their liberty song sounding above the din of the fight.

The Revolution was now in full swing, and "La Marseillaise" did much toward keeping the people loyal to it, for ever since that day when it was first heard in Strasburg, no matter where sung or in what

PORTRAIT MEDALLION OF ROUGET DE LISLE

cause, it has made the blood of Frenchmen leap. Lukewarm they might be on a subject, but let some voice ring out with the words, "Allons, enfants de la patrie!" or a band strike up the first inspiring measures, and they were lukewarm no longer. Battles were won by it, and more than once it has saved the day for France.

NOVEMBER of 1792. Through the Belgian province of Hainault the legions of Austria were marching against the republicans of France, to break their power at one blow and set back on the throne, from which the people had driven him, the Bourbon monarch Louis.

East and west of the Rhine every one knew that upon the outcome of their advance the fate of the revolutionists hung, and the people waited, quivering. At Jemappes, a village three miles west of Mons, the Austrians met the French, and arms of royal army and of commoners

from beside the Seine clashed in deadly conflict. Furiously both sides fought, for each realized how much was at stake; but when the battle was at its most critical point, the tide turned against the Frenchmen. The right wing began to give way, and along the Austrian lines went a shout of victory. Then General Dumouriez, one of the most courageous and brilliant commanders France has ever produced, remembered the magical power of "La Marseillaise." Placing himself at the head of his troops, he began to sing, "Allons, enfants de la patrie!" A few officers in the front ranks took up the strains, then others and others, until, ere long, every man in the right wing was singing. There was a wild shout and a forward charge, and the French won a victory.

Far away from Jemappes, and long, long afterward, France and England were battling against Russia and Turkey in the Crimea. A French regiment was detached to storm the heights of Malakoff, whose fortress was one of the chief defenses of Sebastopol, but the Russians hurled them back. Again they formed and advanced seven times in all, and, seven times, fire from the Cossack field-pieces put them to flight. Order was given for the eighth forward movement, and, simultaneously with it, "La Marseillaise" rang out upon

the air. The men rushed forward as if inspired. They charged through a rain of shot and shell and fell by dozens before the murderous cannon, but the broken regiment went on, for above the din of the firing could be heard the words, "Aux armes, citoyens! Formez vos bataillons!" and Malakoff was won, won by the song of a soldier who served in Strasburg sixty years before.

During the Revolution of 1848 it was the same. When the courage of the people ran low, Madame Rachel, a French actress whose name stands high on the list of stage immortals, in a theater in Paris recited "La Marseillaise" as only a great artist could recite it; and then, as at Jemappes and at Malakoff before the enemy, it aroused wild enthusiasm and inspired men with the determination to win.

In the Franco-Prussian War this glorious liberty-song was the inspiration of the French, and was still their inspiration in the great war of to-day. Never, from the time Rouget de Lisle wrote it, has its power been mightier than since that August day of 1914 when the battle-cry sounded over Europe; never has it sent men to death and glory with more eagerness and sublime desire. It was heard at the Marne, drowning out the notes of "The Watch on the Rhine." It sent regiments forward at the Somme and at Verdun, before Amiens and Ypres. It has kept French courage glowing like a meteor when it seemed that only a miracle could keep that flame from dying out, and in 1915, the sound of its strains in a Paris theater trebled the recruiting.

Marthe Chenal sang it, a great artist, who chose to help France with a song. Her wonderful voice was known from Bordeaux, in the south country, to Calais, beside the Channel. She had often been called the most beautiful woman in Paris, and when word went forth that she would sing the loved liberty-chant, people went by thousands to the Opéra Comique, and those who went will never forget it. Every one of them had heard the song many times before, but as they listened to Chenal it seemed they never had heard it really sung. She wore a robe of filmy white, cut in Grecian lines. On her head was the Alsatian bonnet, ornamented with a tiny cockade, and she sang as Rouget de Lisle himself might have sung had he been a great vocal artist. When the rousing chorus, "Aux armes!" was reached, the tricolor fell from the folds of her robe and enveloped her, and then she stood silent beside the footlights, as if she were the spirit of liberty and of every noble ideal for which France was struggling. Poilus home from the trenches, many of them bearing scars they will always carry, crouched in their seats and wept. Officers in the boxes covered eyes with handkerchiefs, and women and children sobbed. Each one took away a memory that was a glorious thing for France; and each time, after Chenal's singing, fresh courage swept over the city.

played by a military band; while Philip Gibbs, describing the re-entry into Antwerp of Belgium's heroic soldier-king, tells us: "All over the city, bells were ringing, their notes mingling in a strange, clashing melody. And from the belfry of the cathedral, the chimes' gay carillons came tinkling down. They were playing the 'Marseillaise.'

Only a few miles away from where King Albert was thus joyously welcomed back to his place as ruler, the former Emperor of Germany, who had ruthlessly invaded Belgium, was even then beginning the disgrace of humiliating exile. But alike in the capital of his great empire, where his very name was being hooted, and in the famous seaport of Belgium, where her returning King was acclaimed with loving loyalty-it was the "Marseillaise" that voiced the deepest feelings of the people. What a triumph for the great national song of France!

This is the story of the song. But what of the singer who sat through the velvet April night composing a recruiting anthem for the Army of the Rhine? He served France as a soldier, and served it well, being always loyal to the Republic. During the Reign of Terror, when so many mistakes were made and so many innocent people were imprisoned and executed, he came near going to the guillotine, charged with having made statements against the people's cause, statements which he had not even thought of. From behind prison bars he saw the attack on the Tuileries and heard his song sounding above the storming of the palace, wondering if it would be his death-chant, too. But he managed to escape to Switzerland, where he remained until the power of Robespierre was broken and that tyrant himself followed to the guillotine the many

people he had sent there. Then Rouget de Lisle returned to France and to the army. Under General Hoche, he fought the Austrians at Quiberon and was wounded there, and then served as a soldier for many years afterward. Finally, he retired to private life, and-to poverty! "La Marseillaise" had become the national anthem, but it brought him little money, and there was more than one day when its composer went hungry. Then, when he was seventy years old, Louis Philippe granted him a pension and the cross of the Legion of Honor, and the remaining six years of his life were passed in comfort.

Rouget de Lisle suffered greatly, but he served France and is still serving it; and because France is grateful for that service, she honored him to the uttermost in 1916. In July of that year his body, which had lain till then in a little suburban cemetery, was borne in state to Paris. The day was made a national holiday, and at a service. held as the nation's tribute to him President Poincaré spoke a noble eulogy.

"Wherever it sounds, 'La Marseillaise' invokes the idea of a sovereign nation that has a passion for independence, and whose sons, all of them, prefer deliberate death to servitude. Its striking notes speak a language understood to-day throughout the world. A hymn like that was needed in a war like this to interpret the generous thought of France."

Then, amid the reverence of a grateful people, the body of Rouget de Lisle was placed in the Hôtel des Invalides, where sleep the great Emperor Napoleon and other illustrious Frenchmen, and which is France's memory hall of noble deeds.

"Soldier of France and singer of the Marseillaise"-that is his epitaph. Could any man desire a nobler or a more enduring one?

THERE are three of them, Minthy Boo and Plop Plakes and Putcherly. They live in Fairyland with the fairies, but there is a mystery about them. In the first place, they are bigger than the fairies are and they can't fly. But they can jump, oh, so far! It's almost flying. And sometimes they manage to keep themselves up in the air much longer by violently kicking their feet, the way you do when you jump a wave. Some one suggested that they were children who had been changed back again, but had not been changed quite enough. That might be it.

It is embarrassing for Plop Plakes, Minthy Boo, and Putcherly not to know where they belong to be so very inbetween; not as big as children are, and yet not as small as fairies, either. To be without wings, like children, and yet, strange to say, to have gold dots in the corners of their eyes nearest the nose, which is the true sign of a fairy.

a girl, and sometimes she will sit for hours with her face in her hands, trying to remember, and the truly fairies gather around her, solemnly waiting until she looks up. Then they shout eagerly: "Did you remember, Minthy Boo, even a tiny bit? Tell us, Minthy Boo!" And Minthy Boo shakes her head and says very tragically, "No, I did n't remember anything, not anything at all!" Then they all fly off together to tumble among the flowers, and Minthy Boo is happy again and even forgets that she cannot remember.

Minthy Boo is exquisitely beautiful, with little, slim, white feet and long, crinkly, brown hair. Putcherly is a fairy of the world. He seems to know everything and to have been everywhere, and he jumps with such elegance that the fairies despise their wings. Plop Plakes is a dear little fat creature. Every one loves him and laughs at him. mired, the way

He would like to be ad-
Putcherly is, but no one

admires him. However, he is the best fun of all to play with.