heard. Spirit-stirring echoes were they, these
awakening sounds of coming conflict! and how they nerved my heart, and
set it bounding again with a soldier's ardor! As I descended the hill,
the noise became gradually fainter, till at length I found myself in a
narrow ravine, still and silent as the grave itself. The transition was
so sudden and unexpected, that for a moment I felt a sense of loneliness
and depression; and the thought struck me, "What if I have pushed on too
far? Can it be that I have passed our lines? But the officer spoke of
the voltigeurs in front; I had seen the fires myself; there could be no
doubt about it." I now increased my speed, and in less than half an hour
gained a spot where the ground became more open and extended in front,
and not more than a few hundred paces in advance were the watchfires;
and as I looked I heard the swell of a number of voices singing in
chorus on different sides of me. The effect was most singular, for the
sounds came from various quarters at the same instant, and, as they
all chanted the same air, the refrain rang out and filled the valley;
beating time with their feet, they stepped to the tune, and formed
themselves to the melody, as though it were the band of the regiment. I
had often heard that this was a voltigeur habit, but never was witness
to it before. The air was one well known in that suburb of Paris whence
the wildest and most reckless of our soldiers came, and which they all
joined in celebrating in this rude verse:--

"Picardy first, and then Champagne,--
France to the battle! on boys, on!
Anjou, Brittany, and Maine,--
Hurrah for the Faubourg of St. Antoine I

"How pleasant the life of a voltigeur!
In the van of the fight he must ever be;
Of roughing and rations he 's always sure,--
With a comrade's share he may well make free.

"Picardy first, and then Champagne,--
France to the battle I on boys, on!
Anjou, Brittany, and Maine,--
Hurrah for the Faubourg of St. Antoine!

"The great guns thunder on yonder hill,--
Closer than that they durst not go;
But the voltigeur comes nearer still,--
With his bayonet fixed he meets the foe.

"The hussar's coat is slashed with gold;
He rides an Arab courser fleet:
But is the voltigeur less bold
Who meets his enemy on his feet?