As he advanced the Russian army fell back, destroying the towns through which they passed and burning the villages, so that the French might find neither shelter nor food awaiting them on their march.

At length, in the month of September, after many skirmishes had taken place and Smolensk had been reduced to ashes, the French found their enemy near a village named Borodino. Here a great battle, lasting twelve hours, was fought, both sides suffering enormous losses. Not fewer than seventy thousand men were killed or wounded.

But the Russian generals were not discouraged. They knew that winter was drawing near, and that erelong snow and frost would fight for them against the invaders. The army was therefore ordered to withdraw and leave Napoleon free to march on to Moscow.

When at length the French entered the capital they found it strangely deserted. They had toiled along in hope of food and shelter in the Holy City, and when it came in sight they had shouted for joy, Moscow! Moscow! But when they entered it, it was silent as a city of the dead. Only the wounded, the aged, the prisoners, had remained to receive the enemy.

Before the French had been in the city more than an hour or two, fire broke out in different parts of the town. The Russians had destroyed the fire-engines before they left, so that the French found it wellnigh impossible to put out the flames.

In spite of disappointment and discomfort the French troops found that the forsaken houses held much that they might plunder.

They spread themselves over the city, ransacking ward-robes and cupboards. Little food was to be found, but there were plenty of gay garments in which the excited soldiers clad themselves.

In the cellars, too, there was a plentiful supply of wine, and so they feasted and drank until at length they were worn out and fell fast asleep.

As they slept the cry of fire arose once more. A strong wind was now blowing, and as most of the buildings were of wood the flames soon spread in every direction, and it was plain that the city was doomed.

For two days Napoleon watched the flames, and only when urged by his officers to forsake so dangerous a place would he leave his quarters.

The Russian campaign had as yet brought little glory to Napoleon. He had, it is true, won some victories, but he had paid for them dearly in the loss of men.

And now, as he watched Moscow being burned to the ground, the great general began to feel that his plans were going awry.

Winter was coming on, the Russian army refused to fight, so Napoleon wrote to the Czar to propose terms of peace favourable to Russia.

The Emperor Alexander refused to listen. He believed that he had but to wait, and soon snow and frost would drive the invader out of his land, and with heavier loss than the French deemed possible.

It was already October when Napoleon determined to order the retreat from Moscow.

For Russia the winter was meanwhile unusually mild, and at first the French army struggled along bravely, although the country through which it had to march was utterly desolate and little or no food was anywhere to be found.

The army had set out laden with the spoils that it had gathered at Moscow, but as the weather grew colder and colder, and as it grew weak for want of food, the road was strewn with the treasures the soldiers dropped by the way.

By November the army was within three days' march of Smolensk, where it hoped to find shelter and provisions.

But now the snow began to fall in great blinding flakes, while the wind rose whirling them hither and thither, so that soon the soldiers' eyes grew dazzled. Before them stretched naught save an endless desert of snow.

Shivering with cold, without so much as a crust of black bread, many of the men fell by the way. Nor did their comrades dare to linger by their side, lest they too should share their fate and perish in the storm.

To add to the horror of the march, the enemy now began to hang upon the rear of the French army, or to fall upon those who had wandered from the road.

Fierce dogs, too, prowled about, feeding on the bodies of those who had fallen, yelping hungrily for more victims when their horrid meal was ended.

Onward, still onward, pressed the miserable army. Reaching Smolensk, it rested for a few days before pushing on toward the river Dnieper, which at length loomed into sight. Across its frozen waters the soldiers marched, those who crossed last, however, being attacked by the Russians.

Encouraged by General Ney, one of Napoleon’s bravest officers, the rearguard, in spite of its weakness, fought its way through the enemy's ranks and succeeded in rejoining Napoleon, who was with the main body of the army.

Before the French reached the next river, the ice had begun to thaw. The Beresina was usually a small, harmless stream, but now it was in flood, blocked, too, with half-thawed ice.

When Napoleon reached the bank, it was to find that the bridge by which he had counted on crossing the river was in the hands of the Russians.

Despair gripped the hearts of the wretched soldiers and showed upon their faces, but the emperor's face was immovable, his will as iron.

Orders were given that two light bridges should be built and thrown across the Beresina. The men worked desperately, the bridges being their one hope of escape, and soon they were ready and safely placed in position.

On 26th November a large number of soldiers crossed the hastily made bridges in safety. But on the following day the Russian army arrived at the bank of the river and placed its cannon so as to command the bridges.

In despair, those miserable soldiers who were still on the farther side of the river, hampered now by desperate stragglers and camp-followers, attempted to cross the bridges, only to be slain by the fast-flying shot and shell of the enemy.

So great was the rush for the bridges that at length one of them gave way. Then terrible cries arose from those who were plunged into the icy waters beneath, to be drowned or shot by the enemy.

When it was seen that one bridge was gone, a general stampede was made for the other.

Many finding it impossible to reach the bridge, threw themselves into the water to try to swim to the other side. But there were few who were not crushed to death by the ice-floes or frozen to death by the cold.

On the 29th, while still many of the French remained on the farther bank, the order was given to set fire to the bridge, that the enemy might not be able to cross the river.

Then those French folk who were left helpless on the other side, uttering piercing cries, threw themselves into the river, while the Russians from the banks shot, without ceasing, at the struggling mass. It was a miserable remnant of Napoleon's grand army that at length reached a town in Poland, where it could have food and shelter. From twenty to twenty-five thousand had lost their lives at the river of Beresina. Thus ended the terrible retreat from Moscow.

The misfortune of the Grand Army had been due entirely to the weather, said the emperor, and he seemed to be undisturbed by the great loss of life that had reduced his army to a mere handful of men. He was, indeed, no sooner in Paris than he began to assemble a new army. Every lad of sixteen, in either France or Italy, who could handle a gun was forced to become a recruit.

When this new army was ready, the emperor once again marched against his foes. Prussia had now joined Russia against the great French general. The Prussians were led by Blücher, an old soldier seventy years of age. Blücher loved his country well, and longed, by a glorious victory, to wipe from her annals the disgrace of the defeat of Jena.

Two great battles took place near Dresden, and Napoleon forced the allied army to retreat. He himself then hastened to Leipzig, where he could easily keep in touch with France.

Here, in October 1818, a great battle called the Battle of the Nations was fought.

For four days the tide of war ebbed and flowed, now the French, now the allied army seemed to be on the point of winning the victory. But at length the struggle ended, the French being defeated and driven back into the town. Here their supply of ammunition came to an end, and there was nothing left for them to do save retreat, and that in face of the foe.

Along a narrow bridge the French army took its way. But by some fatal mistake the bridge was blown up while the men were still crossing. Again disaster had befallen the French. Thousands of soldiers were drowned, thousands were captured by the enemy.

Then the power of the great French emperor quickly began to wane.

Country after country threw off its allegiance to France. Holland, as also the states of Germany, drove the French out of their land, while Lord Wellington triumphed in the Peninsula.

After the defeat of Leipzig Napoleon had hastened to Paris. A month later the allies offered him humiliating terms of peace. When these were scornfully refused by the emperor, the Prussian, Russian, and Austrian armies marched into France.

Napoleon tried to raise a new army, but so many soldiers had perished on the battlefield that this was now no easy matter.

Against the advancing foe Napoleon at last led an army indeed, but one composed chiefly of raw recruits. Even thus the genius of Napoleon wrested victory from his enemies in four pitched battles.

At length the allied forces succeeded in eluding the French general. Unawares, they slipped away and marched straight on Paris.

The National Guards fought bravely to defend the capital, but they were soon overpowered, and the city surrendered to the enemy in March 1814.

As the victorious generals rode through the streets of Paris the people shouted gladly, Long live the Emperor Alexander! Down with the tyrant! for they knew that Napoleon was selfish and cared little for them or their needs so that he might satisfy his own ambitions. Even the statues which had been erected in his honour were pulled down and trampled upon by the excited mob.

Meanwhile Napoleon, finding that the enemy had escaped followed toward Paris, only to hear, on reaching Fontaine-bleau, a few miles distant, that the capital had surrendered.

Thus the mighty empire which Napoleon had reared in a few years had fallen to pieces in a few months. Even Paris was no longer his.

The great emperor saw that there was nothing he could do save give up his crown.

The allied Powers, wrote Napoleon, having declared that the emperor was the sole obstacle to the re-establishment of peace in Europe, the emperor, faithful to his oaths, declares that he renounces, for himself and his heirs, the thrones of France and Italy, and that there is no sacrifice, not even that of life, which he is not ready to make for the interest of France.

After his abdication the allies made Napoleon King of Elba, a little island in the Mediterranean Sea.

Before he left France he called his troops together to bid them farewell.

The Old Guards, who had so often followed Napoleon to victory, shed tears at the thought of losing their general. As he saw their tears, their leader bent forward and kissed the Eagle of France which was on their standards. Then, turning away, he left them, to journey to the island to which he was exiled.

The little son of Louis , although he had never reigned, had sometimes been called Louis , so the new king was given the title of Louis XVIII.

As you would expect, the Royalists were delighted to welcome a Bourbon to the throne, but the soldiers were still loyal to Napoleon. When they saw their new king, who was old and fat, and fond of eating and drinking, they longed for the old days to come again, when their great general was the ruler of France.

Violets, which had always been a badge of the Bonapartes, were handed from one old soldier to another, while they whispered, He will come to us with the spring. And they were right, for, tired of his little island kingdom, Napoleon determined to return to France. He set sail from Elba in February 1815 with ten hundred and fifty troops, resolved to stake all on one great adventure.

Landing on French soil, the general hastened to Grenoble with his miniature army. Here there was a garrison of his old troops.

At first, when they saw Napoleon, they showed no great eagerness to join him. Perhaps they were afraid of the result if they proved disloyal to Louis XVIII.

The officer, who was a Royalist, ordered his men to shoot the daring exile. But the order was not obeyed.

Soldiers, then cried Napoleon, throwing open his coat, here is your emperor! if any one wishes to kill me he can do so.

His voice acted as a spell, thrilling the troops and awakening their old devotion. Long live the emperor! they cried again and again, as they stepped over to join the ranks of those who followed him.

As Napoleon marched toward Paris, town after town, village after village, forgot their allegiance to Louis XVIII. and sent their soldiers to follow the general they had loved so well in other days.

Even Marshal Ney, who had been sent by the Government to capture the outlaw and had promised to bring the Corsican to Paris in an iron cage, no sooner saw his old general than he forgot his promise, and with all his troops joined Napoleon.

Louis was not brave enough to fight for his throne against the hero of the people. He fled from Paris in the middle of the night, while Napoleon reached the capital and was carried by the soldiers in triumph to the Tuileries.

The short time during which Napoleon again ruled France was known as the Hundred Days.

The emperor knew that the princes of Europe would soon be up in arms and ready to march against him.

With all his old energy he made up his mind not to await the enemy. Taking with him as large an army as he had been able to muster, he set out, to find the English under Lord Wellington, the Iron Duke, encamped on the field of Waterloo near Brussels.

Here, on June 18, 1815, Napoleon also took up his position, hoping to fight the English before the Prussians under General Blücher had come to their aid.

On the evening before the battle rain had fallen, and still in the early morning it had not ceased. When the battle began, about twelve o'clock, the fields of Waterloo were wet and slippery.

Again and again the French cavalry charged the English infantry, which was drawn up in solid squares, but still the English stood firm.

Will those English never show us their backs? cried the emperor impatiently, as he saw how they still stood unflinching before the tremendous onslaught of his men.

I fear they will be cut to pieces first, answered one of his generals.

Blücher, meanwhile, was hastening to join the Iron Duke as quickly as muddy roads and heavy cannon would allow. But with all his haste, it was four o'clock before Wellington heard the welcome sound of distant cannon and knew that the Prussians were approaching.

Napoleon also knew that the Prussians could not now be far away, and he resolved on one more desperate charge before Blücher arrived.

His Old Guards, whom hitherto he had kept in reserve, were ordered to advance. But the English met them with so fierce a fire that even these hardy veterans hesitated and fell back in confusion.

The English seized their chance and, charging in among them, drove Napoleon's Old Guards in triumph from the field.

Wellington then advanced with his whole army, and before this terrible onslaught the entire French army turned and fled.

Napoleon knew that the day was over, that victory would not be his.

All is lost, he cried, save himself who can, and he galloped from the field.

Blücher and his troops arrived in time to follow the fugitive French army. No mercy was shown by the Prussians, who overtook and killed many hundreds of Frenchmen before they could reach a place of safety.

Napoleon went sadly back to Paris, knowing that the Sun of Austerlitz was set for ever. The fickle Parisians, angry at the loss of so many of their soldiers, turned the defeated general out of the city, while orders reached him to leave France. Every port, however, was guarded by a British man-of-war; escape was impossible; and so, exactly a hundred days after he had landed so confidently in France, Napoleon gave himself up a prisoner to the captain of the British ship Bellerophon.

The princes of Europe made up their minds that Napoleon should again be banished, and he was sent to the rocky island of St. Helena, in the Atlantic Ocean. From this lonely spot he could not easily escape, and to make it the more impossible, guards were placed on the island to watch his movements and to read his letters, lest he should ask his friends to help him to return to France.

For over six long years the great general remained a prisoner on the island of St. Helena. On the 5th of May 1821 he died.

As he lay dying a great storm passed over the island. The thunder crashed and the lightning flashed. Then Napoleon raised himself slightly and opened his eyes.

It was surely the noise of cannon that he heard, for looking around, as though for his soldiers, he murmured, France, army, the head of the army, Josephine. Then, sinking back on his pillows, the great man Closed his eyes for the last time.

I desire that my ashes may repose on the banks of the Seine, in the midst of the French people I have loved so well, Napoleon had written in his will.

Nineteen years after his death his wish was fulfilled, his body being brought to France and laid to rest in a beautiful tomb in Paris.

After Napoleon had been banished to St. Helena, Louis had returned to claim his crown. He was allowed to sit upon the throne of France, but he was never able to gain the love of his people.

In 1824 he died, saying with his last breath to his brother Charles, who would succeed him, The Charter is the best inheritance I can leave you.

This was the Charter of French Liberties which Louis had signed and promised to uphold when he ascended the throne of France.

The people of France were proud of their free press, that is, of their right to publish what any one had written without the interference of the Government.

But the ministers of Charles thought this a dangerous liberty, and persuaded the king to make a new law, by which all pamphlets and books had to be seen and approved by Government before they were printed.

This new law, which touched one of the liberties which their Charter had won for them, made the people very angry. They showed their indignation by wandering about the streets of Paris shouting, Long live the Charter! Down with the Ministers!

Charles, finding that the National Guards were on the side of the people, dismissed them, and also forbade the Chambers of Deputies to assemble.

In 1829 Charles, whom his subjects nicknamed the Simple, chose for his chief ministers three men who were bitterly disliked by the Parisians.

One of these had been a friend of Marie Antoinette, and had been known as an aristocrat at the time of the great Revolution.

Not only in Paris but throughout France there was much discontent at the king's choice. Charles, however, having chosen his ministers, was determined to keep them.

Lest the mob should dare to rise and show their displeasure, the king sent troops under General Marmont into the city to keep order.

But the mob paid no heed to the troops. It hastened to the cathedral and rang the bells with all its strength to call the citizens to arms.

Then, as was its wont, it pulled up pavements, cut down trees that grew along the sides of the streets, and put up great barricades.

As the troops marched along the streets, stones were hurled at them from the windows, boiling water too was poured over them, and this strange kind of warfare disturbed the soldiers more than a fierce fire of shot and shell would have done.

In spite of Marmont's efforts to keep his men loyal to the king, many of them deserted and joined the mob.

Thus encouraged by the soldiers, the people hastened to the Louvre and the Tuileries, and rushing into these beautiful palaces they broke the furniture and statues to pieces and flung them recklessly into the river Seine.

This revolution, for such it really was, lasted for three days, and was called The three glorious days of July 1880.

The king had gone off hunting before the outbreak of the mob.

When he heard how they had behaved, he thought it was time to pacify them, and he determined to dismiss the ministers whom they so disliked.

But, as many a Bourbon king before him had done, Charles had delayed until it was too late. The citizens of Paris—and Paris meant France—had made up their minds that they would no longer allow Charles to be their king. So he was deposed, and the crown was offered to his cousin, the Duke of Orleans.

Louis Philippe, son of that disloyal Duke of Orleans who had voted for the death of Louis , now became king.

He was not like his father, being a good man and a brave soldier.

At the time of the Revolution Louis Philippe had fled from France. Being well educated, he had earned his living by teaching in a school in Switzerland, and had even wandered so far as North America.

The new sovereign wished to rule as a citizen king, chosen by the voice of the people. He promised faithfully to guard the Charter of French Liberties.

But Louis Philippe had little chance to rule his kingdom well. For already, when he came to the throne, his people were split up into at least three parties, each of which bitterly disliked the other.

There were the king's own friends, there were those who thought the grandson of Charles should be on the throne, and worst of all, there were Democrats or Red Republicans who could not bear to think that a Bourbon was again upon the throne of France.

The Democrats belonged to a secret society which employed much of its time in plotting against the king's life.

Once, as Louis Philippe drove up to review his troops, one of the members of the secret society fired at the royal carriage.

The king escaped, but some of his officers were killed, as well as a few of the people who had gathered round the king's coach.

After Louis Philippe had reigned for six years the plots of Louis Napoleon, a nephew of the great Napoleon, began to attract as much attention as the schemes of the Democrats. More than once he was discovered trying to make the soldiers of the French army rebel against their king. At length he was arrested and put in prison, but he managed to escape. Disguised as a workman, he fled to London.

Meanwhile the ministers chosen by the king were almost as much disliked as had been those of Charles

Guizot and Thiers, both of them great historians, were the names of the ministers Louis Philippe had chosen to help him govern France.

In one of the histories written by Guizot, you will like to know that I have found many of the stories which I have told you in this book.

But though both Guizot and Thiers were wise and learned, the mob hated them. Again they began to wander along the streets of Paris crying, Down with the Ministers! Long live Reform!

The troops were ordered to scatter the mob. By some accident a gun was fired from a window and wounded a soldier, whereupon the troops poured a volley into the crowd and injured about fifty people.

As you may imagine, this roused the fury of the mob It hurriedly ran up barricades all over the city, and vowed to take vengeance on the ministers.

Guizot then resigned, thinking thus to appease the anger of the people. Thiers, left alone, attempted to carry out reforms that would satisfy them, but in vain. Nothing would satisfy the country save that Louis Philippe should cease to be king.

So in February 1848 Louis Philippe quietly gave up his crown and went to live in England, where a year later he died.

France had grown weary of kings. She now determined that the country should again become a republic.

When their country now, for the second time, became a republic. Lamartine was the idol of the day, and accordingly he became the leader of the new Government.

Lamartine who was a poet and an orator, was also a brave man After the abdication of Louis Philippe he faced the excited mob, and spent more than three days trying to soothe its angry passions. Until the city was quiet he did not dare to snatch time either for food or sleep, but at length his eloquence prevailed and the people went away peaceably to their homes.

France was again a republic. Yet the Democrats were still dissatisfied.

Work was hard to find, people were starving The Democrats would fain have seen the rich forced to divide their money and their goods with the poor.

Even the Tricolour, which now waved from all the public buildings gave these Republicans no joy. They longed to see the red flag. the badge of the fiercest Democrats, hoisted all over France.

When the mob again rose, clamouring that the red flag should replace the Tricolour, Lamartine would not yield an inch to the voice of the people.

Citizens, he said, and there was no quaver of uncertainty in his voice, Citizens, neither I nor any member of the Government will adopt the red flag. We would rather adopt that other flag which is hoisted in a bombarded city to mark to the enemy the hospitals of the wounded. The flag of which Lamartine spoke was that of the Red Cross.

I will tell you, he went on, in one word why I will oppose the red flag. It is, citizens, because the Tricolour has made the tour of the world with the republic and the empire, with your liberties and your glory; the red flag has only made the tour of the Champ de Mars, dragged through the blood of citizens.

Brave words these to speak in the face of an angry mob! But by such words, and also because the Parisians were nothing if not fickle, Lamartine soon began to lose his hold upon the people, his popularity began to wane.

The second republic had been proclaimed in February 1848; by June the people had become so dissatisfied that again they were up in arms, and street-fighting grew daily more dangerous. At length the Government ordered General Cavaignac, the Minister of War, to take troops and clear the streets.

For three days a terrible slaughter followed, the troops finding the mob armed and desperate.

At the end of three days the heart of the Archbishop of Paris could no longer bear to see the sufferings of his flock. Going to General Cavaignac he begged to be allowed to go to the headquarters of the rebels.

His wish was granted, and the brave archbishop set out, carrying in his hand naught save a cross.

Many of the soldiers, believing he was going to certain death, begged him to return. But he refused, saying, It is my duty. A good shepherd giveth his life for the sheep.

It was evening when the holy man reached the spot where the battle was raging.

Holding the cross aloft, he went toward the foot of the barricade, a servant carrying before him a green branch, at that time the sign of truce.

The soldiers drew close to the archbishop as he approached the mob. Even with the man of God standing between them, the two parties scowled fiercely upon one another.

Suddenly, from an unknown quarter, a shot was fired. Without pausing to find out who had fired, the rebels, shouting, Treason! treason! sped back to their guns, and the fight was soon raging as fiercely as ever.

Undismayed, the archbishop walked slowly toward the barricade which the rebels had set up. As he reached the top a storm of balls swept over his head, yet he, as by a miracle, was untouched.

Slowly he began to descend, meaning to join the rebels on the other side. But at that moment a chance shot from a window struck him and he fell to the ground.

Then in horror the rebels laid down their arms, and staunching his wound they carried the brave archbishop to the hospital.

He lived only for a few moments. With his last breath he cried, O God, accept my life as an offering for the salvation of this poor misguided people!

After the archbishop's death the rebels offered to surrender on condition of a general pardon. But General Cavaignac refused to accept any condition, so again the rebels flew to arms. Many thousands of them lost their lives.

When at length peace was restored to the city, the Chamber of Deputies determined to have a president at the head of the republic. The president was to be chosen by the vote of the people.

Their choice was unexpected. Lamartine, being no longer their idol, was set aside. General Cavaignac, who had served his city bravely, was ignored. But Louis Napoleon, the nephew of the great Napoleon, who had been forced to fly from France during the reign of Louis Philippe, was now chosen to be the President of the French Republic.

If the people dreamed that the nephew of Napoleon would be content with the title of President, they soon found out their mistake.

Three years after his election, in 1851, he made secret arrangements to become emperor. As Napoleon's little son had sometimes been called Napoleon Louis determined to call himself Napoleon

That neither the minister Thiers nor General Cavaignac might thwart his plans, Louis Napoleon ordered them to be imprisoned. He then caused placards to be posted all over Paris, saying, not that he intended to be emperor, but that he meant to remain president of the republic for ten years.

The mob, indignant with the president's ambition, flew to arms. But Louis Napoleon was prepared for this. His soldiers had received orders to patrol the streets and shoot all those who would not agree to his plan.

A sudden stroke of policy such as this by which Louis Napoleon became master of France, is called a coup d'état. Before another year had passed Louis Napoleon's coup d'état  had proved so successful that he was proclaimed emperor by the vote of the people.

In the following year—1858—a great war broke out between Russia and Turkey. France and England sided with Turkey, and this was the beginning of the Crimean War.

To tell you of this war makes our story seem very near its close, for we still read in the newspapers of old soldiers who fought in this great campaign and yet are alive to-day.

Nicholas, the Russian emperor, was full of ambition and wished to add to his already large dominions. Turkey was near enough to tempt him.

Now, while along the south Russia touches the Black Sea, half of the shore at least belonged to Turkey, and she, if she chose, had the right to forbid ships of other nations to enter. This added to the emperor's desire to seize part of Turkey's dominions. He wished himself to have control of the Black Sea.

France and England determined to protect Turkey, and in any case they were resolved that Russia should not become more powerful than she already was.

The allied French and English armies met at Vama, a town near the mouth of the Danube, and sailed across to the Crimea, a little peninsula in the Black Sea.

Marshal St. Amaud commanded the French army, Lord Raglan the English.

Sebastopol was the chief seaport of Russia, and here a great arsenal had been built, in which the Russians made and stored their weapons. It was this important town which the allied armies determined to besiege.

The Russian winters, as you remember, were terribly severe, and soon both the French and English were suffering from the intense cold, as well as from hunger and a dreadful disease called cholera.

In the English camp the sick soldiers were nursed by Florence Nightingale. So gentle she was, so kind, that the men often forgot their pain and the terrible hardships they had to endure. Before long the roughest soldiers learned to love this sweet woman, who, when she could not bring healing to their bodies, yet brought ease and comfort to their homesick hearts. They even grew content if only her shadow might fall upon them as she passed quietly from bed to bed.

For more than a year Sebastopol was besieged, and though the allied armies had not taken the town, they held the fortress of Balaclava, which was situated on the south side of the city.

It was here that the famous Charge of the Light Brigade took place, of which you have often read in your English history.

One day, when the Russians were making a desperate effort to wrest Balaclava from the enemy. Lord Raglan sent a message to the officer of the cavalry regiment of the Light Brigade, ordering him to take the Russian batteries.

It was plain that a mistake had been made, for to charge the Russian guns was certain death. Yet with dauntless courage the officer and his six hundred men rode straight forward, in the face of a tremendous storm of fire.

Nor was the fire only in front.

Through that awful fire the English soldiers forced their way, silenced the Russian guns and slew the Russian gunners.

Then began the terrible ride back through the narrow pathway, now as before riddled with shot and shell.

Of the six hundred that had set out so bravely, only a handful returned from the jaws of death.

Soon after this the Emperor Nicholas died. People believed that disappointment had made him ill and that, as his army was defeated again and again, he did not care to live.

However that may be, the war did not end when Nicholas died, for his son Alexander still carried it on.

At length the allied troops made a last determined attack upon the town they had so long besieged. Although they did not succeed in taking it, they drove the Russians from their strongest positions, so that it became impossible for the defenders to hold the city. They therefore set fire to the town and escaped from the burning citadel.

Soon after this the war ended, and peace was signed at Paris in 1856. By the Treaty of Paris the rights of Turkey were secured, and no vessels of war were allowed to enter the Black Sea, save only a number of coastguard ships belonging to Russia and Turkey.

Three years after the Peace of Paris he crossed the Alps into Italy to help the Italian king to drive the Austrians out of his kingdom. After winning several brilliant victories he went back to France.

In 1866 war broke out between Prussia and Austria.

Prussia won many battles, and under her chief minister, Count Bismarck, became so powerful that Louis Napoleon grew jealous.

Under one pretext and another the French emperor therefore, in 1870, declared war against Prussia.

He found that it was not only against Prussia that he would have to fight, but against all the German states, who at once sent troops to the help of their countrymen in Prussia.

With the German troops marched William, King of Prussia, his son the Crown Prince, as well as Count Bismarck.

Napoleon , with his son the Prince Imperial, joined his army on the Rhine.

About two and a half miles beyond the boundary of France lay the small town of Saarbriicken. Here the first shot between the two armies was fired by the young Prince Imperial. Louis Napoleon sent a telegram to the mother of the prince, the beautiful Empress Eugenie, to tell her that her son had received his baptism of fire.

Again and again the Germans defeated the French; in one battle, indeed, two French regiments were entirely destroyed.

At length, in September 1871, the two armies met at Sedan, where the last and most terrible battle in this campaign was fought.

The French army had marched into a valley, under the walls of Sedan. It was there, says Victor Hugo, a well-known French writer, no one could guess what for, without order, without discipline, a mere crowd of men, waiting, as it seemed, to be seized by an immensely powerful hand. It seemed to be under no particular anxiety. The men who composed it knew, or thought they knew, that the enemy was far away, The valley was one of those which the great Emperor Napoleon used to call a "bowl." No place could have been better calculated to shut in an army. Its very numbers were against it. Once in, if the way out were blocked, it could never leave it again.

The night before the battle the French army slept, and while it slept the German army was creeping steadily and noiselessly nearer and yet nearer to Sedan, silently making sure that no outlet from the valley was left unguarded.

Not a sound disturbed the slumberers in the French camp. But in the morning when they awoke, a strange sight made them rub their eyes and look again to see if they were still dreaming.

There, on the heights above them, looking down into the valley, the French had seen what looked like a dense mass of soldiers.

Two hundred and fifty thousand soldiers! In the night they had come, as stealthily and as silently as serpents, and the French army was held fast, a prisoner.

What Napoleon thought when he saw the trap in which he was caught, we do not know.

The French fought with courage, but the German guns seemed to send volleys of shot and shell into the valley from every point of the compass. The battle was speedily changed into a massacre.

When at length the terrible day drew to a close, the emperor sent a note to the King of Prussia.

,—Not having been able to die in the midst of my troops, it only remains for me to place my sword in the hands of your Majesty.—I am. Your Majesty's good brother,

Thus did the French emperor give himself up as a prisoner of war, while about eighty-three thousand troops were forced to surrender to the Germans.

A meeting was then arranged between Napoleon and Count Bismarck, in a chateau on the banks of the river Meuse.

It was a beautiful autumn day when the meeting took place, and chairs were brought that Napoleon and the minister might sit out of doors.

The emperor, as was natural, seemed tired and dejected, although he was treated courteously by the count. King William of Prussia also drove to the chateau to greet his great prisoner.

When Paris heard of the surrender of her army she was very angry with Napoleon, the Man of Sedan, as the people named him.

The mob rose as usual when it was displeased, and rushing into the Assembly Hall declared that it would no longer have an emperor to rule over the country. France should again be a republic.

But it was not until the German armies had besieged Paris and forced her, after terrible sufferings, to come to terms, that, in March 1871, Napoleon was solemnly deposed.

Louis Napoleon being then set free by the Germans, hastened to England, where he died in January 1873.

Monsieur Thiers, the historian, was now proclaimed President of the Third French Republic.

But the Democrats were indignant that any terms had been made with the Germans. They shut the gates of Paris and refused to allow the new president to enter the city.

These rebellious citizens were called Communists as well as Red Republicans or Democrats. They declared that rich and poor should share all they possessed in common.

While Paris was in the hands of the Communists law and order ceased to exist. If was not safe for any one to be seen in the streets. They might at once be suspected of favouring law and order, in which case they would either at once be killed or thrust into prison.

For their beautiful city the mob had no respect.

It destroyed the famous palace of the Tuileries and tore down a monument which had been made of cannon captured from the enemy by Napoleon It even set fire to the city itself.

For nearly two months the terrible reign of the Communists lasted. By the end of that time Thiers had assembled the regular army, and the Government troops were ordered to take Paris out of the hands of the rebels.

The army forced its way into the city, and after a desperate fight the Communists were overpowered. Hundreds of them were punished with death, while many hundreds more were sent abroad to the colonies. So at length peace was restored to Paris, and President. Thiers was able to rule the country.

Since then until our own time France has remained a republic, governed by many noble and unselfish men.

During these years, too, she has remained undisturbed by war, yet her people cannot forget the pain and misery she has endured in the days that are gone by.

They love her much, because she has suffered much. And now the one wish of every true Frenchman is to comfort the heart, the heart that has been broken, of their dear, brave, glorious old mother.