The Progress., 1893-08-05
JEAN BAPTISTE.

the boulevard, the tOlllng, hard
pressed mechanic, the sage. scholar,
poet, all take it up, chanting the
Wild refrain, until its mighty throb-
hing is felt throughout the land.
The husbandmen, the distant vine
dressers upon the grape crowned
hills, pause at their work as the news
thrills over the country and the
abandon quiet deeds. speeding away
to the brilliant capital to rally about
their leader.
Once more he is with them; once
more his feet tread the fair land of
France and at every step old com
rades and loyal souls are thronging
to his standard. No need OF battle
cry; the "Marcellaise" has famed the
smouldering embers till they burst
into a connagration, sending the
blood racing through laggard veins
and setting all hearts aglow with en-
thusiasm.
Afar in a distant quarter of the
city, where houses rise so tall and so
near together that the sunlight sell
reached, and as the listening ears of
Jean Baptiste catch the refrain he
capers about, mad with happiness.
Never a heart in all France so light
as his, as bounding up the long flight
of steps, he bursts in on Granny sit
ting at the everlasting knitting and
darning. Old Bettine looks up in
wonder at the child. Is he gone
clean out of reason that he should
dance and the gay little curls hob
over his head as when the winG IS
blowing?
"Listen, granny! l bring good
news. All France is full of it and |
i can near not breathe at all, | am
so joyous. Our emperor has landed
and all Paris has gone mad with Joy.
l am off to the wars! Do you hear,
grannyP beating the drum to keep
the soldiers feet marching. Shout,
granny, Long life to Napoleon.
Vive fEmpereur. >"
Catching the child's enthusiasm,
strong and clear the quavering voice
joins with that of her grandson,
Jean Baptiste, her sunshine, the
onlv tie Of blood left to her on earth
"Ah! little lad. thou hast the true
spirit aud would not hold thee back
The great news has walked the hearts
OF the Frenchman, and Napoleon
counts another loyal soul. Yet Bap-
tiste, when thou art gone, how will
it be with me? All my life is in thee l
might have guessed how it would he,
and yet | am loath to give my all.
Come lad. stand near to me-" and the
grandame's arm holds close the
beating heart. Thy
father marched with the great en-
peror, and far off where / could not
go, he fell fighting for the lilies OF
France. Thou art a good drummer;
have heard thy nimble sticks at
work upon old Francois drum when
be is home from playing in the gar
1ens, So give thee to Napoleon,
and Gods blessing be upon thy
head"
The tears fill her eyes, but Jean
kisses them away, in his impulsive |
manner circling his arms about the |
lear old neck, whispering in her ear:
NAY, granny, do not weep; / will |
90 to the great leader and tell him
Is thou hast told it me, and he will |
place me at the head of all the drum
ners. Think, granny, how proud
.hy heart will be when thou dost see
ne go marching down the street
With the soldiers. My drum will call
hem on to battle, and safe home
lgain when we come to crown our
eader, thou wilt have me back. Then
everywhere when we walk out, peo-
,le will point to us, and Francois
will say with pride: Twas | first
aught the little Jean to play, and.
,ehold, to the sound of his drum all
france went forth to battler"
Tho hours sped by, and Paris, gay
t all times, is dazzling in its beauty.
rom every nook and canny hang
orth the Haunting banners. Fri
Imphal arches stride here and there
IL down the long. bright avenues.
Balconies and windows are alive with
.ayly dressed people waving to
he troops as they go marching by
o battle. Foremost. where the
orner turns, giving a broad sweep
o the approach and retreat of the
oSiiers, stands old Bettine, her blue
otton gown strong bit of color in
he dense mass Of people. lis a
rand, bright day. with the June sun
oming down as though it were glad
o shine over the city in its gay trap
ings; yet a mist gathers over Bet
ines eyes when away IN the distance
ONE the soldiers. the regular tramp
{ many feet vibrating along the
treet. Only a moment, then the .
lusic starts. With clang and clash
oar out of the mouth OF the brazen
lstruments sounds the ''Marseil-
lise."
'Tis a bombshell thrown into the I
rowd. and shout from many thous-
nd throats rings out upon the air.