e's no Frenchman true who, at a pinch,
Cannot both crow and cackle.
Ah, _Vive_, once more, the Gallic Cock--and hen!
These Talking-Tours are trying,
But 'tis with windy flouts of tongue or pen,
We keep the French flag flying.

A sop for SAVOY neatly put, elicits
_Such_ "double rounds of cheering."
"_Vive CARNOT!_" To be sure! My annual visits,
France to the Flag endearing
By sweet-phrased flattery of the Fatherland,
Are sure to swell our legions.
"I wish, France, to be _thine_!" The effect was grand,
In "Allobrogian" regions.

_Vive_ Everything--especially _la Blague!_
(What _should_ we do without it?)
Fraternity! the Fatherland! the Flag!--
_I_ work them--never doubt it!
Then "_La Republique_" and "_La Russie_," linked,
Pair off, 'midst acclamations:
Yes, I proclaimed--and never winced or winked--
_That_ "brotherhood of nations!"

"A delegation of young children," Ah!
And they were not the only ones.
"Men are but children of a larger--" Bah!
Wise and strong _men_ are--lonely ones.
Most men--French-men--have touches of the child,
Fondness for show, fine phrases--
Pst! Here my _role_'s not cynical, but mild,
And open as dawn-daisies.

"_J'embrasse la Russie!_" That was rather neat
For "_Faute-de-Mieux_," at any rate.
Wondrous the magic power of _blague_, and "bleat"
On Man--_mouton_ degenerate!
That "_Bete Humaine_," as ZOLA dubs him. Gr--r--r!
The real brutes are braver;
The tiger, when in chase of prey, won't purr,
Nor will the Bear, then, slaver.

The Bear! Reminds me of a horrid dream
I had that night. A funny one,
But startling! I awoke with such a scream!
I dreamt some link (a money one?)
Bound me to a big Bruin, rampant, tall,
A regular Russian Shagbag,
In whose close hug I felt extremely small,
And squeezable as a rag-bag.

I, CARNOT, squeezable! 'Tis too absurd!
A President, and pliant!
But--in my dream--the raucous voice I heard
Of that grim ursine giant.
"Come to my arms! You'll find them strong and snug.
The North's _so_ true--and tender!"--
And then that monster huge put on the hug!
I thought my soul I'd render.

A bear's embrace, like a prize-fighter's grip,
Is close as passion's clasping.
"Welcome!" he grunted. "_I_'ll not let you slip!"
"Thanks! thanks!" I answered, gasping.
"_J'em--brasse--la--Rus--sie!_"