Yes--"_Vive la France!_"--and "_Vive la Russie!_" too. _Vive_--why not?--everybody! Called once, "_Monsieur le President Faute-de-Mieux_"[2] (By _Punch_, that foe of shoddy). I fancy I have justified the name, Ay, to the very letter. I may not be a THIERS, but all the same, France has not found a better. Tall-talk is tedious, but one must not flinch When asked the task to tackle; And he's no Frenchman true who, at a pinch, Cannot both crow and cackle. Ah, _Vive_, once more, the Gallic Cock--and hen! These Talking-Tours are trying, But 'tis with windy flouts of tongue or pen, We keep the French flag flying. A sop for SAVOY neatly put, elicits _Such_ "double rounds of cheering." "_Vive CARNOT!_" To be sure! My annual visits, France to the Flag endearing By sweet-phrased flattery of the Fatherland, Are sure to swell our legions. "I wish, France, to be _thine_!" The effect was grand, In "Allobrogian" regions. _Vive_ Everything--especially _la Blague!_ (What _should_ we do without it?) Fraternity! the Fatherland! the Flag!-- _I_ work them--never doubt it! Then "_La Republique_" and "_La Russie_," linked, Pair off, 'midst acclamations: Yes, I proclaimed--and never winced or winked-- _That_ "brotherhood of nations!" "A delegation of young children," Ah! And they were not the only ones. "Men are but children of a larger--" Bah! Wise and strong _men_ are--lonely ones. Most men--French-men--have touches of the child, Fondness for show, fine phrases-- Pst! Here my _role_'s not cynical, but mild, And open as dawn-daisies. "_J'embrasse la Russie!_" That was rather neat For "_Faute-de-Mieux_," at any rate. Wondrous the magic power of _blague_, and "bleat" On Man--_mouton_ degenerate! That "_Bete Humaine_," as ZOLA dubs him. Gr--r--r! The real brutes are braver; The tiger, when in chase of prey, won't purr, Nor will the Bear, then, slaver. The Bear! Reminds me of a horrid dream I had that night. A funny one, But startling! I awoke with such a scream! I dreamt some link (a money one?) Bound me to a big Bruin, rampant, tall, A regular Russian Shagbag, In whose close hug I felt extremely small, And squeezable as a rag-bag. I, CARNOT, squeezable! 'Tis too absurd! A President, and pliant! But--in my dream--the raucous voice I heard Of that grim ursine giant. "Come to my arms! You'll find them strong and snug. The North's _so_ true--and tender!"-- And then that monster huge put on the hug! I thought my soul I'd render. A bear's embrace, like a prize-fighter's grip, Is close as passion's clasping. "Welcome!" he grunted. "_I_'ll not let you slip!" "Thanks! thanks!" I answered, gasping. "_J'em--brasse--la--Rus--sie!_" Here my breath quite failed In that prodigious cuddle. 'Twas but a dream--How was it sleep prevailed My meaning so to muddle?