ERSTER SCHULGANG. — (SOUTH ANGONI- Shaking the dew in showers All round couch the mountains Like lions slowly awakening, As the golden sunlight creeps downwards along their flanks From the tall grass, waving its russet plumes High over their heads- One by one, along the path Wrapped in their white cloths, they come, And from every reed-fenced kraal Fleet-footed, slender, soft-eyed, Through the Bush, drenched with dew, Where the zebras graze before the noon grows hot Where the thorn-tree is powdered with gold And the wood-pigeon coos, And the plantain-bird's mellow call to his mate Sounds afar from the water-courseAlong the winding woodland paths The children come. The rocky path winds up the hillPearly grey tree-trunks shimmer Through depth on depth of greenness. Up the hill the children come singing"Yesu a dza ku werenga ana ache abwino" Nguwi, black, lowering sphinx-like over The voices rise and fall-stop and begin the plain, And craggy Lipepete And forest-clad Bangala, again Nearer and nearer And, hark, the flute-notes in between, And Dzonze, where the lions live-a Shrill and sweet as a warbling bird shapeless, rounded mass And Mvai's trifid granite peak- And Chirobwe, far away The children are coming! Sapphire-blue, beautiful, with one sharp And Mbuya, lissom and laughing-eyed, From Blackwood's Magazine. FOR THE LAST FIFTY YEARS. Paris has been the heart of France since Louis XI consolidated a kingdom. But the Revolution - the Revolution par excellence changed all former conditions. Under the old régime the grands seigneurs crowded to the court from the country to rival each other in the race to ruin. But only the men of the bluest blood and the highest pretensions were welcomed to the Louvre or the royal chateaux, although each of the seigneurs had his followers or parasites, whom he sought to advance. Each province had its parliament and its governor, who held the little court which sufficed for local ambitions. There the poorer noble or the well-born hobereau could cut a certain figure, and hope for a place or a sinecure suited to his station. There was a local noblesse of the robe, with a host of hangers-on, and besides the multiplicity of minor official appointments which have always existed in France, there were openings for men of brains and cupidity as intendants to administer the domains of the absentees,—to grind the vassals, to exact the corvées, and to take heavy toll for themselves in the shape of commission and douceurs. That state of society was swept away by the Revolution. In those times of turmoil and terror, when the democratic caldron boiled over, the hereditary aristocracy disappeared, and the places they had filled were left vacant. Society was shaken to its foundations, and a new world had come up, with the general levelling of classes, where everything was thrown open to talent, energy, selfconfidence, and audacity. The map of France was remodelled; the provinces, with their semi-independent satraps, who squandered their revenues in a sort of semi-Oriental state, gave place to departments administered by préfets, appointed and directed by a central authority. Then the gravitation towards centralization in the capital became inevitable, and thenceforth Paris has been the happy hunting and, as we might add, of every nation. We are not sketching the recent political history of France. We shall only remark, by way of introducing Captain Bingham's suggestive "Recollections," that the government has oscillated between democracy and dictatorships since the assembling of the States-General and the collapse of the old régime. The coups d'état of Fructidor and Brumaire had prepared the way for the autocracy of Napoleon. Louls XVIII. accepted the constitutional charter drawn up and submitted by an elected Assembly and Charles X. was sent into exile for tampering with that essential title of the Restoration. Louis Philippe, who might have done better for himself and his family had he been wise enough to insist on a regency and the rights of the young Duke of Bordeaux, was the "King of the French" and the chosen of the people, who elected to dismiss him in his turn when he outraged democratic susceptibilities. The prince president, when he violated his sacramental oath and terrorized the Boulevards with a butchery, pleading Hugo's ȧváyêŋ and imperative stress of circumstances, sought absolution in an appeal to the democracy, whom he hoped to master when the reins of government were held firmly in his hands. Again he had recourse to the same expedient of the plebiscite, when his power had been shaken and his popularity endangered by the Mexican fiasco and his misman agement of foreign affairs. Since that memorable day of September, when the gentlemen of the pavement appropriated power, what we may call the constitutional democracy has had everything its own way, with the exception of the interval of Parisian anarchy under the Commune, which was the most fundamentally democratic development of all. Paris is the most inviting field for adventurers; and it is perhaps the surest proof of the vitality and sound qualities of a really great nation, that France has not only survived the 1 Recollections of Paris. By Captain the Hon. ground of adventurers of every kind, D. Bingham. Chapman & Hall, 1896. calamity of the German war, but made herself more formidable than ever as a military power. Thanks to her vast. internal resources, she has continued to prosper and pay her way, though she has reorganized her forces at an enormous expense, and replaced the strong neural frontiers of Alsace and Lorraine with artificial defences which experts pronounce to be well-nigh impregnable. Yet assuredly stability of government has done nothing for her, and "statesmen" rise to the surface with startling rapidity, to disappear like bubbles on the s ream. Aspirants are beginning to realize that the path to power may be made somewhat too easy. A jealous rival asks no better luck than to push an embarrassing opponent up to the premiership. The victim must either be precipitated from that sad eminence or take the plunge sooner or later. His single object is to fall with a certain dignity, so that in the universal shattering or discrediting of political reputa. tions, the revolution of the wheel of fortune may give him a second chance. It was thought that ministries had succeeded each other with startling rapidity in the first ten years of Louis Philippe's reign; but with the extension of the suffrage and the democratic apotheosis, the pace has been accelerated with phenomenal velocity. "Ma foi," exclaimed Talleyrand, "il est bien distingué," when he saw an undecorated Englishman at a brilliant court reception where every one was glittering with crosses and stars. And that may be said now of any fairly prominent politician who has not figured and failed as a Cabinet minister. Mr. Morley discussed the power of the press, not long ago, at a literary gathering in London. Whatever it may be here, in Paris it is distinctly tending to increase, because there is greater stability in the press than in the Parliament. Formerly the sparkling leader-writer who had made himself a name and become an authority almost invariably sought the suffrages of a constituency. If he could speak half as well as he could write-and most Frenchmen have persuasive facility of speech-he looked to office, crosses of the Legion, and a pension in retreat. Now the man who speaks habitually with the voice of the Temps or the Debats is far more of a power than the man who may make so brief a stay in the ministry that the office messengers have scarcely time to identify him. See recent caricatures in the Charivari, passim. Moreover, the leading pressmen not only have the agreeable sense of permanency, but they are as well paid as the ministers and infinitely more independent. The hopes the Parisian press hold out to the ambitious intellects of young France are forcibly illustrated by the present state of things in journalism. We know on sure authority that nothing is more desperately speculative than the venture of some clever young provincial who would take to journalism as a Career-or as the entrance to politics. If his contributions have the luck to be accepted in some provincial paper, he is seldom or never paid. If he is poor, he struggles on and perseveres in a garret on the French counterpart of the little oatmeal which is said to have nourished the early Edinburgh reviewers. It is touching and admirable to think of his manfully doing his best work, and keeping the fires of inspiration alive, cheered only by some faint, distant hope. Then perhaps the day comes when, like the Chatteris actors in "Pendennis," he finds he has attracted the notice of an omnipotent manager in the capital. The countryman goes up to Paris, transfers his literary headquarters to the Café Chose, is permitted or invited to sign his articles; and thenceforward, if he can stay as well as go the pace, his future is assured. The successful writer who signs is open to tempting offers, and it is necessary to pay him handsomely to retain his services. Moreover, he has a character to maintain, and though he may be unscrupulous or sophistical, in the main he is consistent. His support is courted. and if he be not actually bought, there are indirect ways in which a minister or promoter can engage the alliance of an effective pen. If the worst comes to the worst, and his profession palls on him, he knows that he can always try a turn at the government of France. Now that préfets pass like Cabinet ministers, the minor official appointments no longer offer the former in ducements to frugal Frenchmen who love a comfortable and assured income, the ribbon of the Legion, and local reverence. The prizes in successful journalism take many forms, and the leading journals are closely associated with the high finance. In France, as in Germany, many of the journals, like the railways, are financed by great Hebrew capitalists. It is no new thing; and to go no further back than the Second Empire, Captain Bingham gives a striking example of the power of the Rothschilds. Alfred de Musset, who was shy and sensitive, had been persuaded to read a new poem at the Tuileries on the distinct understanding that only the en peror and his consort were to be present. During the reading a gentleman entered, and the poet stopped. It might have been expected that the emperor would have resented the unprecedented intrusion, but the gentleman was Baron Rothschild. As he deprecated the money-lender's hold over an impecunious client, the poet had to be flattered into compliance, and the master of many millions remained to listen. We do not say that the devotees of mammon have become more eager or more unscrupulous since then, for that could hardly be. But the worship of mammon has become more absorbing and exclusive since the plutocracy is become the aristocracy of the democratic republic. Paris lost the show and seductive glitter which gilded the extravagances and corruptions of the Empire. The Elysian fields in the fashionable hours of the afternoon are more like the sombre realms of Pluto, though in fact Plutus is evidently the presiding deity. Vulgar ostentation is the predominating feature, and if one would shine, money one must have. The old restaurants which have disappeared-the Café de Paris, the Trois Frères, and Philippe's - were by no means cheap, but the others which have replaced them, and are most in vogue for the moment, seem to seek to recommend themselves by extortionate charges. Still more significant is the fact that the foreign ambassadors find the outlay which used to suffice insufficient now. For diplomatic hospitality must satisfy and gratify the guests, and the haute finance, which is not the least important element of the society which is to be conciliated, expects to be entertained as it entertains. There is a lower stratum filled by the people of passage, who flock to the grand hotels or occupy a sumptuous apartment for the season. They have made their piles by pork or petroleum, by stocks or silver in North America; they have swindled the State and the foreign immigrants in Argentina or Mexico; they have enriched themselves by Transvaal gold or by diamonds in the Orange Free State; or they may be simply respectable parvenus who, having more money than they need, have gone over to Paris to have a good time. Their careless expenditure may be beneficial to trade, but it forces up the cost of living to all classes. The result is a choice of alternatives to the many whose modest or precarious incomes are barely sufficient for their wants. Either they carry French frugality to parsimony, pinching and saving, or they are tempted to risk small speculative ventures. If they win, they increase their stakes, for there is no such enticing passion as successful gambling. There are still leviathans who conceive daring schemes and plunge heavily for millions of francs, as in those days of the Empire and imperial concessions and sleeping partnerships with all-powerful ministers, which Zola has depicted in the Debacle with exceptionally realistic vigor. But now the class of players has deteriorated, as at the tables of Monte Carlo. Still, as Paris will always be the heart of France, the Bourse is more than ever the soul of Paris. It is the financial journals, or the financial columns in the political papers, which are sought and read with most anxious avidity. Nothing gives more piquancy to your morning paper than the possibility that some sudden rise or fall may announce either temporary riches or ruin. The spread of dangerously speculative investment is obviously demoralizing to any community, butthough, we confess, we can detect few signs of that-it should conduce to amicable international relations. The man who has an open bull account, or who has placed his savings in Egyptians or in South African mines, cannot desire that his country should quarrel with the English, however much he may dislike us. Nor does he. But neither the careful père de famille nor the hardy speculator can control the irresponsible rhapsodists of the Assembly or the firebrands in the press, who play solely for their own hands, and pander to the blind passions of the populace. One other set of adventurers we must advert to, who still set their faces towards the capital in spite of hard economical facts and sore discouragement. They are a dangerous legacy of the ostentation and indirect corruption of the Empire, as they were the backbone and partly the origin of the Commune. When Haussmann was carrying out his wholesale demolitions and reconstructions, he employed crowds of workmen at high wages. Distress in the provinces was relieved by the assurance of engagements in Paris. The Empire passed, but the workmen remained to recruit the ranks of the Com munists and draw wages for playing at soldiers. The building which gave them employment had increased the room-rents and the cost of living by sweeping away the old rookeries and rabbit-warrens. Labor chômes now, and the monts de piété of the northern quarters do a brisker business at present than the Bourse. Yet a golden tradition is slow to die out, and illinformed provincials still flock to the fabled El Dorado where the rich veins were exhausted a quarter of a century ago. Nor need we add that there can be no more perilous element than a mass of precariously employed workmen, in possession of the suffrage, who a can menace by their mass meetings and semi-secret societies the demagogues and tribunes who are eager to truckle to them. Had Boulanger had a grain more resolution, had there been Fleury to force him to set the spark to those explosive materials, the conspirators of the Café de la Madeleine might have succeeded like Kinglake's Brethren of the Elysée. The chief interest and value of Captain Bingham's volumes are that they throw some novel and instructive light on the course of French history since the prince president, after making his coup d'état, claimed to have re-established the empire on national suffrage. They are desultory and gossipy, and we must necessarily treat them in a gossipy and desultory fashion. The writer speaks with a certain authority. Married to a Frenchwoman, he mixed much in Parisian society; he acted as correspondent to the original Pall Mall, to the Scotsman, and other papers; he was always on the search for facts; he had the entrée to the ministries and the salons. He says he kept no diaries; but, like M. Blowitz, the famous correspondent of the Times, he has a marvellously exact and tenacious memory. We have checked his volumes, so far as they concern the Empire, with those of Felix Whitehurst, who, when corresponding for the journal "with the greatest circulation in the world," was a favored and petted guest at the Tuileries, St. Cloud, and Compiègne. We know that Whitehurst would introduce ladies and gentlemen to the emperor without even the ceremony of a previous request; and we have found Whitehurst, who knew more of the court gossip than most men, always in essential accordance with Bingham. Moreover, the writer can vouch personally for the truth of various statements which seem somewhat startling. Captain Bingham's reminiscences of the two sieges-and through both he remained in residence as correspondent, per balloon or otherwise-are especially curious, and his sketches of celebrities or notorieties are entertaining, and shrewd, incisive, |