To solve this puzzle, take the last two letters of the first word described to make the first two letters of the second word, and so on. The last two letters of the seventh word will be the first two letters of the first word. The words are all of the same length.

1. Mistake. 2. A bay window. 3. Senior. 4. To rub out. 5. A kind of cloth. 6. A style of painting which illustrates everyday life. 7. To direct attention.

MEDORA HOSTETTER (age 13), League Member.

variety of quartz. 14. To ignite. 15. A river of France. 16. A river of France. 17. A waternymph.

FRANCES CUMMINGS (age 13), League Member. WORD-SQUARE

1. To shout. 2. Surface. 3. A useless plant. 4. Boys.

M. ANSBACHER (age 13), League Member.

A MILITARY KING'S MOVE PUZZLE

(Silver Badge, St. Nicholas League Competition)

R

1

2

3

4

S

S

S

A

B

10

12

A

13

14

15

16

17

18

VOL. XLVI

No. 3

He was just an obscure officer of the engineers and his name was Claude Joseph Rouget de Lisle. Outside the little mountain town where he was born and the army posts at which he had been stationed, nobody knew anything about him; and he was far from being the most popular man in his regiment. His reserved manner and solitary habits prevented that-his inclination toward dreaminess that often took him on long rambles into the Vosges while his brother officers engaged in pranks at the barracks. Sometimes even when among them at the mess-hall he seemed to be very far away; and then they would shrug their shoulders and let him alone; for although they liked him well enough, they could not understand his moody ways. more than one foretold that these same moody ways would cause him to make a blunder some day that would disgrace him in the army.

And

But they who prophesy do not always know. It was written in the book of destiny that this dreaming soldier of Lorraine would be acclaimed among the greatest and most beloved sons of France.

It happened in Strasburg in the spring of 1792. The revolutionists, determined to overthrow the monarchical government of France, and fearing that the Emperors

Francis of Austria and Frederick William of Prussia would support the claims of Louis XVI and thwart their efforts for independence, had declared war against these rulers, and each day brought nearer the attack that every one knew was sure to come from beyond the Rhine. The forces guarding the border were too weak to protect it in case of onslaught, and it was necessary to strengthen the Army of the Rhine, as it was called, by a large number of men. Strasburg alone needed six hundred, and a call for volunteers had been issued; but the recruiting was slow. France divided, with republican and royalist pitted against each other, was a dangerous country at that time in which to take a stand. There were many whose sympathies were with the revolutionists, but who hesitated to support them openly lest the royal party come into power again and mete out terrible punishment to all who had opposed them. Meanwhile, the war preparations of Prussia and Austria went on, and the people of Lorraine trembled.

No one realized the danger more deeply than Mayor Dietrich of Strasburg, who had spent hours and days working out plans to speed the recruiting. Results were very disappointing, however, and it was

clear that something else would have to be done. He knew the captain of the engineers, Rouget de Lisle, and knew also that often he composed songs-words and music that were sung by the soldiers at the barracks. So he invited the young officer to dine with him.

Mayor Dietrich was a wise man. Knowing that Rouget de Lisle was poetic and beauty-loving, and that color and light and music exhilarated him like some magic elixir, he proceeded to make that love of beauty serve France. He engaged an orchestra to play. He flooded the room with light from many-colored tapers, and ordered the tricolor, the recently adopted flag of the republicans, hung pendant along ceiling and wall. The music, the radiance of the scene, and the mute appeal of the banners inspired the soldier; and at a happy moment the mayor asked his guest to write a recruiting song.

Rouget de Lisle thought about it throughout the remainder of the dinner, and when he went home that night his soul was aflame. It was late, but he did not go to bed. Thoughts of fiery patriotism surged through his brain, melodies expressing the appeal of the tricolor, and he sat by the window working them out on paper. Some of them suited him and some did not, and these latter he scratched out or threw away. On and on he worked, having no thought of the passing of the hours, experiencing no sensation of fatigue, and when, at last, words and music were completed, dawn was breaking over the Vosges. Then for the first time it occurred to him that he had worked all night and that he was very tired. But he was a soldier and could not then go to bed, for already the reveille was sounding and he must take part in the daily program at the barracks.

Several hours later, the mayor sent over to know if the recruiting song would be ready by evening, and Rouget de Lisle replied with a copy of the completed manuscript. It was tried out at the Dietrich house that night, copied and arranged for a military band, and on Sunday, four days later, was sung by many voices and played

by the band of the Garde Nationale at a review in the public square. "Chant de guerre pour l'armée du Rhin"—"Warsong of the Army of the Rhine," it was called, and was greeted by wild enthusiasm. Nine hundred men, instead of six hundred, enlisted, and the fears of the people became memories.

For days afterward the "Chant de guerre" sounded in the streets of the city, in villages beyond, and then it traveled throughout Lorraine. Soon it was heard in other parts of France, and everywhere it was welcomed with the same enthusiasm it had aroused in Strasburg. Sometimes, during those terrible days when men's minds were inflamed by wrongs long endured and they perpetrated wild outrages in the name of liberty, it was the inspiration of bloody and merciless deeds, for the revolutionists adopted it as their battlesong and men and women went to the guillotine to the sound of its strains. How it came to play such a mighty part in that revolution is a very interesting story.

It was a night in June, down in the warm, bright southland of Marseilles. Some republican leaders of that city had gathered at a banquet, and during the course of the meal a tenor named Mireur sang a song, one that had not been heard in that region before. It was Rouget de Lisle's "Chant de guerre," and such a thrill did it send through all present that they had it printed the next day, and copies were distributed to the members of the Marseilles Battalion, a body of volunteers about to depart for Paris. "Reds of the Midi," these men were called, and they were fierce, hot patriots every one. Some historians have described them as cutthroats and thieves, runaway galleyslaves from Toulon, and scrapings from the slums of Marseilles. But that charge is hardly fair. Among them were some who had been convicts, not because they were criminals at heart, but because they lived in a time when might made right and the poor man had no privileges his lord was bound to respect. Those of humble birth were often victims of outrageous treatment at the hands of the nobility, who