ight at the time I was there, and
although I had made many previous visits in normal times, when I had
greatly admired its grand proportions, none of them had given me any
idea of what its appearance would be when it became the clearing station
in the time of such a great war, and one of the chief bases of all food
supplies. Troops of all descriptions were working like ants by day and
by night, unloading boats to the huge stores of all descriptions of
provender, and loading the trains with all kinds of artillery,
ammunition, Red Cross wagons, motors, horses, and all the paraphernalia
of modern warfare.

The town is the third largest in France, and the chief Mediterranean
seaport. Its history teems with exciting incidents of plague, fire,
sacking, siege, and hand-to-hand fighting, so it is quite in keeping
that it should take so important a part in the present conflict. It was
here Monte Cristo was hurled from the Chateau d'If in the sack from
which he cut his escape. Francis the First besieged it in vain, and it
prospered under King Rene. In the French Revolution it figured so
conspicuously as to give the title to the national hymn of the French.

THE STORY OF "THE MARSEILLAISE."

Is it too late to tell again the story of the origin of "The
Marseillaise"?

[Illustration: ON THE QUAYHEAD AT MARSEILLES.]

Its author and composer (or it might be more correct to say composer and
author, for in this case music preceded words), Rouget de Lisle--a young
aristocrat and an artillery officer--had as a friend a citizen of
Strasbourg, to whose house, in the early days of the Revolution, he came
on a visit one evening. The tired guest was cordially welcomed by the
citizen and his wife and daughter. To celebrate the occasion his friend
sent the daughter into the cellar to bring up wine. Exhausted as he was,
de Lisle drank freely, and, sitting up late with his host, did not
trouble to go to bed. He had been amusing the family by playing some of
his original compositions on the spinnet. When the host retired for the
night he left de Lisle asleep with his head resting on the instrument.
In the early hours of the morning the young officer awoke, and running
through his head was a melody which, in his semi-drunken state the
evening before, he had been attempting to extemporise. It seemed to
haunt him, and, piecing it together as it came back to his memory, he
played it over. Then, feeling inspired, he immediately set words to it.