a song."

"Yes," said the other. "_Les Pas de Charge_."

"No, no," said the captain; "if I am to have a choice, let it be that
little Breton song you gave us on the Danube."

"So be it then," said Alphonse. "Here goes!"

I have endeavored to convey, by a translation, the words he sang; but I
feel conscious how totally their feeling and simplicity are lost when
deprived of their own _patois_, and the wild but touching melody that
accompanied them.

THE BRETON HOME.

When the battle is o'er, and the sounds of fight
Have closed with the closing day,
How happy around the watch-fire's light
To chat the long hours away;
To chat the long hours away, my boy,
And talk of the days to come,
Or a better still and a purer joy,
To think of our far-off home.

How many a cheek will then grow pale,
That never felt a tear!
And many a stalwart heart will quail,
That never quailed in fear!
And the breast that like some mighty rock
Amidst the foaming sea
Bore high against the battle's shock
Now heaves like infancy.

And those who knew each other not
Their hands together steal,
Each thinks of some long hallowed spot,
And all like brothers feel:
Such holy thoughts to all are given;
The lowliest has his part;
The love of home, like love of heaven,
Is woven in our heart.

There was a pause as he concluded, each sank in his own reflections. How
long we should have thus remained, I know not; but we were speedily aroused
from our reveries by the tramp of horses near us. We listened, and could
plainly detect in their rude voices and coarse laughter the approach of a
body of Guerillas. We looked from one to the other in silence and in fear.
Nothing could be more unfortunate should we be discovered. Upon this point
we were left little time to deliberate; for with a loud cheer, four Spanish
horsemen galloped up to the spot, their carbines in the rest. The Frenchmen
sprang to their feet, and seized their sabres, bent upon making a resolute
resistance. As for me, my determination was at once taken. Remaining
quietly seated upon the grass, I stirred not for a moment, but addressing
him who appeared to be the chief of the Guerillas, said, in Spanish:--

"These are my prisoners; I am a British officer of dragoons, and my party
is yonder."

This evidently unexpected declaration seemed to surprise them, and they
conferred for a few momen