Dirige, Madame la France,
Madame la France dirigera les vagues!
Messieurs les Français ne seront jamais, jamais, jamais,
Esclaves!
The effect of the above, when the metre is carefully fitted to the tune (which is a work of time), and sung by a choir (with accent) of a thousand British Blue-jackets, will doubtless be quite electrical.
NOTE BY A TRAVELLING FELLOW FIRST CLASSIC.—There's no passage in any Classical author, Latin or Greek, so difficult as is the passage between Dover and Calais on a rough day, and yet, strange to say, the translation is comparatively easy.
A PICTURE ON THE LINE.—Sketch taken at the Equator.