AMERICA'S DEBT TO FRANCE.

It may perhaps be suggested that the fact that France lavished her favors on the American people in the past does not explain her present action. Logically-the objector may say-America should send bronze statues to France, not France to America. We never sent armed men to her aid when all Europe was banded against her. While her land was overrun, and German, Russian, English armies swept over her fields and towns, leaving a track of ruin behind them, only French blood was shed in her behalf. Our ships did not go down with French ships at Trafalgar, our treasure did not melt away in the fiery furnace of French tribulation and German triumph. If we are paying taxes to support our credit and diminish our debt, no part of that debt was incurred to save French interests or French territory. True-but he knows little of the hidden springs that control human action who does not know that there is no gratitude like that which is felt by the benefactor. It is far easier to forget the favors that we have received than those that we have conferred. That pattern of shrewd worldly wisdom, Benjamin Franklin, ingenuously tells us that when he wanted to secure the goodwill of influential men he always sought to place himself under some slight obligation; he borrowed (and returned) a book, or asked some small service. The obligation incurred was never heavy enough to trouble him, but it always en

raged the other party to renewed bounty. › habit of generosity is apt to grow with exer, and it is precisely because France was the nd and loyal ally of America upward of a cen7 ago, that she is now ready, and always has n, to testify the warmth and fidelity of her atiment. And if there ever has been at any e, on the face of our friendship, coldness or angement, or the appearance of it, such a nge has never been exhibited by France.

f I were called upon to pick out from the is of concurring testimony proof of the pricevalue of French aid to the American colo, I should go to that dark and dreary winter Talley Forge, when even the stoutest hearts e despondent. All that makes victory possiwas absent, except courage and faith, and were fast failing before the cruel blows of erse fortune. What must other men have ught of the future and its promises when shington from the midst of his shivering, halfl, and half-fed followers, wrote this: "Unless e great and capital change takes place the y must be inevitably reduced to one or other hree things—starve, dissolve, or disperse." nly a miracle could save the cause! Who ld help the struggling band of enthusiasts had nothing to offer as a reward for the aid ch they prayed for? Was it not against all ory and experience that the vanquished cause uld so commend itself to the world that ops, and money, and friends, and sympathy

from strangers-strangers in blood, in tastes, in language-should be provided as though a rich return were sure to follow? It all came, and strangely enough, the prime mover in the battle against monarchy was a king, the volunteers in the people's fight were nobles, the treasury that made success possible came from a well-nigh bankrupt state! If logic had had a voice in French councils, and French sentiment had not guided French action, Lafayette would have stayed at home, Louis XVI. would have closed his royal ear to these earnest appeals, French gold would have remained in French hands, and the galaxy of bright, brave, loyal, chivalrous marquises, dukes, and counts would never have fought, flirted, suffered, danced, and-died on American soil.

Frederic R. Coudert.

HARMOSAN.

Now the third and fatal conflict for the Persian throne was done,

And the Moslem's fiery valor had the crowning victory won.

Harmosan, the last and boldest the invader to defy,

Captive, overborne by numbers, they were bringing forth to die.

nen exclaimed that noble captive: "Lo, I perish in my thirst;

ve me but one drink of water, and then arrive the worst!"

his hand he took the goblet, but, awhile, the draught forbore,

eming doubtfully the purpose of the foeman to explore.

ell might then have paused the bravest―for, around him, angry foes

ith a hedge of naked weapons did that lonely man enclose.

But what fearest thou?" cried the caliph, "is it, friend, a secret blow?

ar it not!-our gallant Moslem no such treacherous dealing know.

Thou may'st quench thy thirst securely, for thou shalt not die before

ou hast drunk that cup of water—this reprieve is thine-no more!"

ick the Satrap dashed the goblet down to earth with ready hand,

d the liquid sank for ever, lost amid the burning sand.

'hou hast said that mine my life is, till the water of that cup

ave drained, then bid thy servants that spilled water gather up!”

For a moment stood the caliph as by doubtful passions stirred

Then exclaimed, "For ever sacred must remain a monarch's word.

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'Bring another cup, and straightway to the noble Persian give:

Drink, I said before, and perish-now I bid thee drink and live!"

Richard C. Trench.

THE RAVEN.

ONCE upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary,

Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore

While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,

As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber-door.

""Tis some visitor," I muttered, "tapping at my chamber-door

Only this, and nothing more."

Ah, distinctly I remember, it was in the bleak December,

And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor.

Eagerly I wished the morrow: vainly I had sought to borrow