--the highest literary
institution in the world--strike a gold medal in his honour, with the
inscription, "La medaille du poete moral et populaire"? M. Sainte-Beuve,
the most distinguished of French critics, used a much stronger
expression. He said, "If France had ten poets like Jasmin--ten poets
of the same power and influence--she need no longer have any fear of
revolutions."

Genius is as nothing in the sight of God; but "whosoever shall give
a cup of water to drink in the name of Christ, because they belong
to Christ, shall not lose his reward." M. Tron, Deputy and Mayor of
Bagnere-du-luchon, enlarged upon this text in his eulogy of Jasmin.

"He was a man," he said, "as rich in his heart as in his genius. He
carried out that life of 'going about doing good' which Christ rehearsed
for our instruction. He fed the hungry, clothed the naked, succoured
the distressed, and consoled and sympathised with the afflicted. Few men
have accomplished more than he has done. His existence was unique, not
only in the history of poets, but of philanthropists."

A life so full of good could only end with a Christian death. He
departed with a lively faith and serene piety, crowning by a peaceful
death one of the strangest and most diversified careers in the
nineteenth century. "Poetry and Charity," inscribed on the pedestal of
his statue in Agen, fairly sums up his noble life and character.

Endnotes for Chapter XX.

{1} 'Lou Poeto del Puple a Moussu Renan.'

APPENDIX.

JASMIN'S DEFENCE OF THE GASCON DIALECT.

To M. SYLVAIN DUMON, Deputy-Minister, who has condemned to death our
native language.

There's not a deeper grief to man
Than when our mother, faint with years,
Decrepit, old, and weak, and wan,
Beyond the leech's art appears;
When by her couch her son may stay,
And press her hand, and watch her eyes,
And feel, though she survives to-day,
Perchance his hope to-morrow dies.

It is not thus, believe me, Sir,
With this enchantress, we will call
Our second mother. Frenchmen err,
Who cent'ries since proclaimed her fall!
Our mother tongue, all melody,
While music lives, shall never die.

Yes! still she lives, her words still ring,
Her children yet her carols sing;
And thousand years may roll away
Before her magic notes decay.

The people love their ancient songs, and will
While yet a people, love and keep th