a reward. I had an idea about which I wrote to
the minister; but he has not deigned to answer me. As the taking of the
Bastille has been chosen for the date of the national celebration, a
reproduction of this event might be made; there would be a pasteboard
Bastille, fixed up by a scene-painter and concealing within its walls the
whole Column of July. Then, monsieur, the troop would attack. That would
be a magnificent spectacle as well as a lesson, to see the army itself
overthrow the ramparts of tyranny. Then this Bastille would be set fire
to and from the midst of the flames would appear the Column with the
genius of Liberty, symbol of a new order and of the freedom of the
people."

This time every one was listening to him and finding his idea excellent.
An old gentleman exclaimed:

"That is a great idea, monsieur, which does you honor. It is to be
regretted that the government did not adopt it."

A young man declared that actors ought to recite the "Iambes" of Barbier
through the streets in order to teach the people art and liberty
simultaneously.

These propositions excited general enthusiasm. Each one wished to have
his word; all were wrought up. From a passing hand-organ a few strains of
the Marseillaise were heard; the laborer started the song, and everybody
joined in, roaring the chorus. The exalted nature of the song and its
wild rhythm fired the driver, who lashed his horses to a gallop. Monsieur
Patissot was bawling at the top of his lungs, and the passengers inside,
frightened, were wondering what hurricane had struck them.

At last they stopped, and Monsieur Patissot, judging his neighbor to be a
man of initiative, consulted him about the preparations which he expected
to make:

"Lanterns and flags are all right,"' said Patissot; "but I prefer
something better."

The other thought for a long time, but found nothing. Then, in despair,
the clerk bought three flags and four lanterns.

AN EXPERIMENT IN LOVE

Many poets think that nature is incomplete without women, and hence,
doubtless, come all the flowery comparisons which, in their songs, make
our natural companion in turn a rose, a violet, a tulip, or something of
that order. The need of tenderness which seizes us at dusk, when the
evening mist begins to roll in from the hills, and when all the perfumes
of the earth intoxicate us, is but imperfectly satisfied by lyric
invocations. Monsieur Patissot, like all others, was seized with a