ON THE FEAR OF A FRENCH INVASION.

(From speech delivered at Manchester, Jan. 27, 1853.)

I WILL tell you what is at the bottom of the whole of this cry in England about a French invasion. It is ignorance in the minds of the great masses of the people, as to what the real condition and circumstances of the French people are. I have told my friends who are met here from different parts of the country, and who are proposing to take steps for a vigorous agitation on behalf of peace, that the first thing they have to do is to spread four or five lecturers over the face of the land, to enlighten the public mind as to the state of feeling in France.

. . It is France alone that you are threatened with danger from, and I say that the people of this country are alarmed with respect to France simply because they don't understand the circumstances of that nation; and, being in ignorance, you may persuade them anything. . . . I tell you candidly my firm belief is, and I am quite prepared to meet the consequences, that if you will let the people of this country know the whole truth as to the economical and social condition of the millions of France, instead of their fearing that the French people are coming to take anything they possess, they will be themselves possessed of a considerable amount of dissatisfaction that their own condition, as a mass, is not equal to that of the French. The French people coming here, like a band of pirates, to take what the English people have! Why, you have to deal with eight million of landed proprietors. .. The French peasantry are the proprietors of the land. When the man follows his horse to field there, he is turning up the furrows upon his own soil.

Now do you think that is exactly the population to run over from their acres and come here on a mere marauding expedition? Our mistake is in judging the French people altogether by our own standard. . . . Now, I say, let the English people be told exactly what is the condition of French society. Let them understand that . . . we are dealing with a people who would not be bringing all their worldly wealth in their canoes, like the New Zealanders or the Malays, but with a people that in many respects are considered by the rest of the world more civilized than ourselves.

2830

CHARLES CARLETON COFFIN.

COFFIN, CHARLES CARLETON, an American novelist and journalist, born at Boscawen, N. H., in 1823; died at Brookline, Mass., March 2, 1896. Until he was twenty-one years of age, he lived upon his father's farm, and endeavored to make up for lack of educational advantages by studying at night. He studied civil engineering, but finally entered journalism. In 1851 he began writing for the Boston press. During the Civil War he was a correspondent of "The Boston Journal," and was a spectator of many battles. In 1866 he was sent to Europe as war correspondent for the same paper. At the close of the war he travelled in Europe, Asia, and Africa, returning home across the continent by way of San Francisco. Among his works are "Days and Nights on the Battle Field" (1864); "Following the Flag" (1863); "Winning His Way" (1864); "Four Years of Fighting" (1866); "Caleb Krinkle" (1875);""The Story of Liberty;" "Old Times in the Colonies" (1880); "The Boys of '76;" "The Boys of '61;" "Life of Garfield" (1880); "Building the Nation" (1883); "Abraham Lincoln (1892); "Our New Way Round the World; " and "The Gist of Whist."

A PRAIRIE FIRE.1

(From "Caleb Krinkle " or Dan of Millbrook.")

CALEB and Bottineau were eating their last meal upon the prairies. Bottineau had been astir before light; had left Caleb sleeping soundly and gone with his gun to the shore of a pond near at hand, and had returned with a wild goose and a duck, which he had dressed. The fowls were roasting, the coffee bubbling in the pot, and the cakes baking on the tin, when Caleb awoke.

It was a chilly morning, and the ground was white with frost. "Bon jour, Monsieur Krinkle," said Bottineau, who, though he could speak English very well, usually gave his morning salutation in French. "A little white about the gills," he added, noticing Caleb's frosty beard.

1 Copyright, 1894, Estes and Lauriat. By permission of Dana Estes & Co.

"And a little stiff in the joints," said Caleb, rising.

"We shall have a hot day, notwithstanding the night is so frosty," said Bottineau, noticing the sun, which was just appearing, red and fiery, through the smoke and haze of the morning.

The fire which Caleb had noticed far away the night before was still burning, and the smoke had settled in a dense cloud along the horizon.

"It must be a grand sight when the wind is high, and the grass tall and rank and dry, to see thousands of acres of flame," said Caleb.

"Very grand; especially when you are on the windward side, but not always an attractive sight when it is sweeping toward you with the speed of a race-horse. But come, Monsieur, breakfast is ready," said Bottineau.

While Caleb was washing his face and hands at the shore of the pond, near at hand, Bottineau spread the table. He found a flat rock on which he laid the goose and duck, for he had no other platter. He had killed a deer the day before, and had broiled a couple of slices of venison.

"I thought, seeing it was to be our last meal, I would have a variety," he said, as Caleb surveyed the array of meats. It was a sumptuous repast. The venison was tender, the goose and duck rich and juicy, and the cakes nicely done. While eating, Bottineau narrated his experience on the prairie - his narrow escape from being burned to death.

"Usually there is no trouble in protecting yourself from a fire. If the grass is thin, there is no danger whatever. It is only when the grass is tall and dry and the wind blowing a gale that there is danger. Then you must fight fire with fire," he said.

"How do you do it!"

"By setting another fire in advance. If you have matches you can start another one, and as soon as it has burned a place as large as your blanket, you can step upon it and be safe. In a few moments it will be raging as fiercely as the other, and in a short time you will have an acre of burned ground all to yourself."

"Suppose you have n't any matches?"

"Then you must flash your pistol, or place the muzzle of your gun in the grass, and fire a charge."

66 But suppose you have no gun ?"

"Then you must make tracks for a pond."

"What if there is no pond near at hand?"

"Then, if you can't outrun the fire, you must ride through it." "Suppose that I am on foot, then what?"

Bottineau shook his head.

"I have seen, Monsieur Krinkle, a prairie fire so fierce that if a man were overtaken by it on foot, he might as well say his prayers for the last time, yet there might be just a possibility of his going through it. The only thing for him to do would be to select a spot where the grass was thinnest, cover his face and hands, if possible, with his blanket, or, if he had no blanket, with his coat, and then, when the fire was just ready to lick him up, hold his breath and run with all his might. A dozen rods will carry him through the thickest of it, and then, if his clothes are on fire, he must tear them off in a twinkling and trample them beneath his feet. However, it is not often that a man would be put to such a strait," said Bottineau.

The breakfast finished, the tent and the outfit were packed up, and Bottineau, touching his hat to Caleb and bidding him "Bon jour," mounted his horse, took the pack-horse in lead, and trotted slowly away toward the east, while Caleb, mounting his own horse, rode to the west, to reach the settlement where the Land Office was located. When his business was completed there, he would turn his steps eastward, settle with Bottineau on the way, and then take the cars for Boston.

He could only think of Bertha, and of the decision he had made. The more he thought upon it the deeper the conviction that he had acted wisely. Now their friendship would be abiding. Society never would pass her coldly by. There would be no bitterness for her in life, nor would a tear ever tremble on her eyelid on his account.

So through the forenoon, lost in meditation, he rode on, the hoofs of his horse beating the seed from the dried grasses. At times he rode through swales where the rushes were higher than his shoulders as he sat upon his horse, and at times ascended knolls and rounded hillocks from whence he could obtain commanding views of the wide expanse. Although it was the middle of September, the heat of the sun was like midsummer. The thick smoke from the distant fire, settling down, partly obscured it, but it hung in mid-heaven like a brazen ball.

Caleb saw that he was gradually approaching the fire. He noticed, also, that the game was unusually abundant. Through

the thickening haze he saw a stately elk, with branching horns, moving rapidly. Then a deer made its appearance. Foxes seemed to be abundant, and wolves were keeping them com pany. More deer-a herd trotting past, seemingly not noticing him. Had he wanted venison he could have obtained a bountiful supply.

Jack-rabbits came skipping through the grass, laying their long ears on their shoulders and panting in the heat. And now a flock of prairie fowl went by on whirring wings. They all but flew against him, and Caleb noticed that animals and fowl alike were moving east. He had been riding in a swale, but, ascending a knoll, he gazed upon a magnificent panorama.

A fresh breeze had sprung up and the smoke had been lifted. The fire was still three or four miles away, but the animals, scenting danger, had begun their migrations. He could see a cluster of houses in the distance toward the northwest. Around each building there were plowed lands, so that the settlement was not endangered by the fire. For several weeks he had not seen even a solitary cabin, and it gave him a thrill of pleasure to behold this evidence of civilization. He had enjoyed his summer work, and had found pleasure in the wilderness, but the thought came, that, after all, civilization was better than solitude, and that a man to be at his best, and to do his best, must mingle with his fellows. Now that he was through with his work, it would be a gain to come in contact with men, to sit in a chair, to lay aside his corduroy pantaloons, and have his hair cut.

Gazing at the fire, he could see that it was rapidly advancing from the southwest, like a victorious army across a battle-field. The wind was blowing a gale from the south-west. Handfuls of flame were torn from the surging sheet by the wind and hurled far away. It was like the constant throwing out of a line of videttes in advance of an army. In the ravines and hollows where the grass was rankest the flames leaped high in the air and great columns of smoke rolled upward, obscuring the sun and filling the sky with gloom. Upon the knolls, where the grass was thinner, it swept quickly past, while behind the advancing line there was blackness and desolation. Rabbits and foxes fled before it, the ground squirrels sought shelter in their holes, and the snakes kept them company. The birds flew in frightened flocks. The sparks and cinders were borne far away by the wind, constantly kindling new centres of flames.