of the Italian liberator. For short, he calls him "GARRY."
Standing in front of the Hotel de Ville, talking to a group of eager
listeners, with his arms wildly gesticulating and his nose
contemptuously curling towards the empyrean, he asks:

"Who is this GARRY? What is he? Why is he--?"

"Stop," I calmly interpollate, "profane not the high calling of the
Italian hero with frivolous conundrums."

"Jerk that monster out of my sight!" roared GAMBETTA to a _sergent de
ville_, and pointing his long, skinny fore-finger full at me.

I turned mournfully upon the crowd, and asked in a plaintive tone:--

"You hear what he says. Do lunatic asylums exist in vain? Men of Tours,
is there a 'jerkist' among you?"

They must have observed that my feelings were moved, for they came
between me and the officer, as if to protect the latter. 'Twas a kind
movement, but useless; as I couldn't have hurt him.

"Monsieur GAMBETTA," I then went on to say, "don't you think that this
horrible epidemic of gas, that is now filling with its deleterious
effluvia the brains and the throat of the French Government, ought to be
stopped? Don't you think, Monsieur GAMBETTA, that you, yourself, could
cut off your supply-pipe for a while and still have enough to light up
with on public occasions?"

I rested my right fore-finger upon one side of my nose and struck an
attitude of interrogation while putting these questions. The Minister's
face turned to an ashen hue, and then the blood came coursing back like
lava to the Crater's surface, without breaking through.

"Fiends seize the man, is a minister of France to be insulted in his own
capital?"

"Friend, calm yourself," I said: "Don't let the crabs run through your
brain like that. Cool off. Take those hot coppers out of your pantaloons
and fan yourself a little. That's what's the matter with France, to-day.
You Frenchmen fizzle, and crack, and shoot up into the air, and
otherwise get away with yourselves so fast, that no wonder the Germans
can't always find you when they go for you. Take my advice. Stop running
red-hot pokers down your backs. Drink more Vichy water and less brandy.
Keep your sky-rockets till next year. Lock your 'language' up in the
dictionary. Send VICTOR HUGO back to England. Tie a church steeple round
GEORGE FRANCIS TRAIN'S neck, and sink him off Toulon. Burn all your
proclamations. Throw rhetoric to the dogs. Put a head on the government
that ain't full of torpedoes. Present a