IT was all arranged one pleasant evening as we sat in front of the Café Américain. The lines of communication between Paris and the rest of the world had been cut off, and the siege had commenced in very truth; yet it was still possible, by the exercise of due influence with plenipotentiary powers, to penetrate the circle du fer, which the Prussians had formed round the city Only the other day, a large party of Americans and English had succeeded in getting through safely to London. But Frank---Frank Baldwin, our dear old friend and crony in those days,--- had no desire to leave the invested city; so at least we learned for the first time, with any degree of certainty, that evening at the café.

"Now, see here, Kent," he said, pushing aside his absinthe with a movement of impatience, "that'll do; I've had enough of your homilies and your bantering. It's all very jolly---the idea of spending the winter in Italy, in the galleries of Florence, among the ruins of Rome, on the bay of Naples---all very jolly, by George! and the old gentleman wants me to go, too. But that's not the question; it's a question of duty and philanthropy---needn't laugh, sir ! --- a question of doing good and seeing life, I mean out-and-out camp and military life. Look at the ambulance upon the avenue de l'Emperatrice,.--George! do'nt that seem to say, 'Frank, my boy, there's work coming.' Been up there several times; queer lot, eh Kent? put 'em down in your note-book, sir. Positively, I'm tired of this kind of stagnation, what! none of the family here, you say? That's so, but, deuce take it! am I always to be running after maternal apron-strings, and crying 'mama, mama !' as the girls run after that British sot, Lord Wilmot, and it's ' Wilmot' here and ' Wilmot' there ? Great Cæsars! do'nt every body know the man is after Fan's money, and she, little fool---well, I say, those are family matters. But the conclusion of the matter is I'm going to stay in Paris, stand up for Johnny Crapaud, and join the American ambulance. There! now don't talk to me anymore about Italy, and macaroni, and truffled partridges."

It was just like Achates --- dear fellow! abrupt, outspoken, and impulsive. It seemed at first as if nothing could induce him to remain. He had lived in Paris most of his life-time, ever since, according to his own declaration, he had put off the pinafore; brought up in luxury, and early introduced into circles of fashion, where his family's high social standing, his own extravagance, and open, generous disposition, made him a general favorite and young coterie-prince, could he possibly think of undergoing the hardships and privations of a siege? Still he lingered, and his inclination to stay seemed to grow stronger and stronger. One way to urge Frank to a harder alternative was to dwell ironically on the ease and delights of the opposite course. He had his aspirations after the high and the noble, and disliked to be reminded that he was born with a golden spoon in his mouth and had been all his life reposing on a bed of roses. We had been testing the efficacy of this mode of treatment for several days past, and particularly on that evening. His father had left three courses open to him: to winter in Italy, do the season in London, or to keep house in Paris. He chose the last, not much, it must be confessed, to our surprise, for we had had previous knowledge of his sterling qualities of heart and head.

Tall, fair haired, open browed, good natured, hearty, and dashing in his manner, you couldn't help being drawn to him when you caught the clear, honest light in his eyes and felt the warm grip of his hand. There was nothing effeminate or selfish in his composition, though he had breathed so long the atmosphere of frivolity and fashion; few indeed could have come out from the ordeal unspotted and unscathed as he had done. Despite occasional fits of fashionable ennui and languor, he was active, and willing to work, when, as he expressed it in his Frenchy way, he descended into the depths of his consciousness and felt a call. At the very first attracted to him, we came in time to love him for his bright smile, his cheery presence, his warm cordiality, his easy independence, his free outspokenness, and his comical hatred of shams and pretenses.

"I'm rejoiced at your decision, Frank," said Kent earnestly, "though it was rather sudden, you will admit, but," he continued quickly, as he saw his companion was about to interrupt him, "I believe you will never have cause to regret of your having taken the step, so far as experience, and the life you will see, are concerned."

"Ça est fait," Frank answered in the peculiar manner of the Paris gamin, "it's done, and don't let's say anything more about it. I'll go up to-morrow and have my name enrolled on the books of ambulance."

It was very pleasant to sit there in the open air, and watch the mixed stream of human life as it ebbed and flowed past us. The boulevard with its rows of cafés and brilliantly lighted shops was all ablaze with life and gayety; mirth, vivacity, gallantry scandal met one at every turn. It was the same light-hearted crowd of pleasure seekers that thronged the promenades in the days of the empire. "Les Anglais n'aime pas s'amuser" said a Parisienne to the author of "Fair France" in the days of the Boeuf Gras; and the French! Look at this laughing crowd sauntering idly on, listen to the murmur of their lively talk, mark the joyousness, the insouciance, the vanity, the frivolity of them all. "Paris," remarks Victor Hugo, "a une jovialité souveraine." Is it not so? Reflected in the large mirrors of the café, one could see the amorous glances of mustachioed Mars, and the gleam of dainty white feet under the tables. The glitter of uniforms, and the shimmer of silk and satin, and all the myriad of glancing colors, under the blaze of the chandeliers, dazzle the eye and mind. The low hum of voices, musical and never ceasing, the jest, the laugh, the repartee, the clank of sabres, the clink of glasses, the occasional strains of some popular opera air or military ballad---these are the sounds that float round and fill the air as naturally as the sea-moan fills the conch.

is the eternal burden of their life song, and who could catch the spirit of the boulevards more readily than Beranger? A fragrance at once alluring and indefinable pervades the place. It is not the fumes of the Havanas from this party next us, nor the steam from the coffee-cups of yonder chatty group, though their odors are agreeable enough; it is nothing distinct and divisible, but a quintessence of perfumes.

"What is this delicious atmosphere like? tell me, Frank," I say.

"Like! hum---why, a Turkish bath---or stay, like that deuced incense they burn in the Madeleine."

"Fiddlesticks! and what do you say, Kent?"

"Why there's some truth in his simile. In effect, it is something like incense on these light-headed Parisians; but it seems to me, in the way it acts, more like the exhalations arising from the tripod of the Delphic goddess --- exhilarating and intoxicating, or like the eating of the lotus-plant, causing a dreamy forgetfulness of care, duty, trouble."

"Bravo! Kent, we'll elect you one of the bas-bleues --- ho, Bottom, thou art translated! Methinks I see the ass's ears sprouting out already. Goddess and tripods and lotus-plants! no, no, pas ça! It's a pot-pourri of blaze, fashion, scandal, women, wit, wine, wisdom ---"

"There, Frank, that will do," says Kent. "We see it all now, thank you ---not as through a glass, darkly, but as through ---a millstone, plainly."

"Bating the atmosphere," I say again, "it doesn't seem to me that Paris has changed so very much since the empire; it's still the Elysium where good Americans wish to go when they die, so far as I can see.

"Ah," Frank replies with a bit of sadness in his tone, "you don't notice it as they do who have lived here longer, eh, Kent? The Tuilleries vacant, no more balls, no more fêtes, the gardens filled with tents, camp-fires, and cannon, the Cirque de l' Emperatrice a barrack, the Champ de Mars a camp, the Bois an artillery-field, avenues barricaded, hotels closed, hawkers on the trottoirs, Mobiles in the streets and the whole city turned into a military encampment."

"And the cafés," began Kent.

"And the cafés closed at half past ten," he continued, waxing eloquent as he proceeded. "Think of the Riche and the Anglais closing at half past ten! Some officers of the national guard were having an old fashioned imperial carouse the other night at the Maison Dorée, and lo! deputations and protestations from the people, and the Maison Dorée, that has been open night and day for the last twenty years, was closed at half past ten!"

"Nous sommes bien tombés," remarked Kent ironically.

"Helas for the viveurs!" was the only reply.

"Then there are the theatres," said the other.

"Peste on the ignorant who went out of the way to advocate their closing! why, the keenest wit and humorist of the Greek drama flourished in an hour of national gloom, when the people lived in tubs and hen-coops, and yet thronged to hear the 'Knights' and the 'Acharnians.'

"Your historic lore is astounding, my dear fellow."

"As for the opera ---' O, what a fall is there, my countrymen'! Performances in civilian dress, the orchestra in uniform of the national guard, in which we have a touch of Molière or Racine, an ode improvised by some Quartier Latin hack, and a discourse or bread and powder; charity concerts in which the gem of the repertoire is the 'Valse des Sylphes,' or 'La Mandolinata; musical soireés begun by M. Pasdeloup with some spirit, and then---chaos; these are our amusements in this 'mecca of civilization.' Depuis, our Fritz, Schneider, Bubotte, la Belle Helène, la Grande Duchesse, all gone, gone."

"It's only you inveterate play-goers that observe these changes, and take them so to heart," Kent remarked.

"Assurément; but isn't all Paris play-going, mon brave?" was the ready answer. "'Tisn't only here one sees it, mind you; one can hardly find his way in the streets now. Rue, de l'Empereur is Rue de la République, and avenue de l'Emperatrice is Avenue du General Ulrich, and so on to infinity."

"Petty spite!"

"Petty! it's small enough, parbleu; but do you remember the statue of the Petit Corporal out there at Courbevoie --- the one in top-boots and great-coat that used to be on top of the Colonne Vendôme ? carved by Seurve wasn't it? Well, the other day some patriotic sans culottes ---wager a franc it was some of Flourens' battalion ---got hold of it, hauled it down, and rolled it into the Seine. Jufort told me about it; saw it done himself. Why, it's the act of a lot of barbarians; the idea of destroying a work of art --- national property like that --- for the sake of"-----

"Hark!" cried Kent, jumping up from his seat, and pointing down the sidewalk.

A confused and unintelligible shout came from that direction, and there was a jostling and scattering in the crowd, whose gay listlessness changed into a buzz of polite excitement; ladies mounted on chairs and gazed down the street; then the rush of feet was heard, and through the parted press, a troop of eager, hard-panting men and boys rushed by, bawling at the top of their lungs ---"un Prussien!"--- "un Prussien!" but no such personage was to be seen.

They passed, in hot pursuit of the soi disant spy; the tramp of feet presently ceased; the cries of the hunters died away in the distance ; the throng on the boulevard closed again, and went sauntering on with the same thoughtless mirth and indifference as before.

It was not an uncommon occurrence in those days. Almost every evening the boulevards were witness to ludicrous scenes of espionnage, and the mania became as epidemic as the cry "à Berlin" had been. Many amusing anecdotes are told of the "discoveries" made, and I take the liberty of repeating one by Francisque Sarcey, which, as far as I know, has never been translated into English.

"Sometimes in the evening you would see a knot collecting slowly, with noses erect in air; and it was not long before the knot became a crowd. What is it they are gazing at with so much attention? --- a light burning in the fourth story, and moving from *room to room. A light! at ten o'clock at night! away up there in the roof of the house That can be nothing but a signal --- Tenez! do you see the green reflection ? and thus the speakers take up the cue: 'I know the porter, --- his wife's a Prussian; she's hiding spies, that's certain; they want to betray Paris.' The National Guard would arrive, a detachment seize upon the trembling concierge, and follow him up stairs to the top of the house. There they would always find a quiet family sewing or reading by the light of the faithful lamp.----But this glancing of the light from one window to another?----

" 'Why, we were going to look for something in the other room.'

" 'And the green reflection?'

" 'That's because our curtains are of a greenish shade.'

"Another night "an extraordinary object the color of which changed from red to green and blue, under the light of a candle that was observed to be moving about in an uneasy manner, aroused a whole neighborhood, who, unable to discover any explanation to the phenomena, were talking of sacking and burning the observatory. Accordingly, the domicile was broken open, and behind the window they found, upon his perch, a stuffed parrot on which were cast the flickering rays of a moving candle!"

A debtor cornered by his boot or shoe-maker, scared him off by crying aloud "un espion !" Houses under suspicion were searched from top to bottom. Dreber's brewery was entered by a mob, who insisted that he had been hanging out signals for the enemy. Individuals caught on the boulevards were escorted to the préfecture amid the hoots and jeers of the crowd, and no body was free from risk at the ramparts. Even Trochu himself is said to have been arrested, and Jules Favre passed one night in a damp prison cell on a bundle of straw.

We had been sitting for some time over our coffee, as one gets in the habit of doing in Paris, and the evening was well advanced, when we left the café, and wandered up the Champs Elysée, out on the Avenue du Roi de Rome. Frank was alone in his :great house on the avenue, and consequently claimed us both as guests, for the night at least, an arrangement to which neither seemed to be in any way averse. The Baldwins lived in regal style in one of those splendid hotels that wealthy Americans build for themselves in the most fashionable quarters of the metropolis, which vie in magnificence of furniture and luxury of arrangement with the palaces of princes. Broad, dainty-lighted, marble staircases, ---suites of richly-decorated apartments with variously tinted walls and gilded ceilings, --- scores of costly paintings of the modern French and English schools ---bronzes and statues, and mosaics---everything in the most exquisite taste and elegance of make adapted to render a home attractive and refined.

In answer to the summons at the porte cochère, a dapper little figure clothed in black, with a faultless white tie and a clean white napkin, appeared, and conducted us up stairs to our rooms, only to re-appear when our ablutions were concluded, and conduct us again to the dining-room, where a snow white spread awaited. Dinner at this hour! Only a light kind of American supper, Frank explained in answer to our query; and indeed, it proved to be a reasonably simple meal of three or four dishes with some light wines with the desert, the substantials being remarkable for their smallness in amount and delicacy of flavor. Auguste remained in the room only when directed to do so by a sign from his master, and at such times performed at once the offices of waiter and valet; for, being an intelligent fellow, he could be very sedulous in his attention on the table, and at the same time unfold all the coffee-house gossip and satisfy enquiries on the political events of the day.

The evening passed quietly and pleasantly away. We played several games of ecartè, and sang a few old familiar songs together, and then retired to our rooms for the night. From our windows we could look out upon the great city as it lay asleep in the mist of the night. The air was fresh and cool, and all along the lines of the larger avenues were streams of hazy light; the never ceasing murmur of life and activity arose from the streets, dreamy, and far-off, like the murmur of the sea. We sat a long time looking up into the starry heavens, and talking of the future, and it was only for very weariness that we fell asleep at last and revelled in the land of Nod.

We were awakened the next morning by a slight tap at the door.

"Helloa --- entrez !" cried out Frank from his room, "is it you, Auguste? Serve monsieur first, if you please."

I was dimly conscious of being gently shaken, bolstered up by the big pillows, and neatly napkined, the dainty little valet moving noiselessly round and performing his office with a despatch and facility both novel and pleasing. Then it was "Will monsieur have anything more?" after the preliminary processes had been completed and the tiny tray left on the bed; as if he hadn't conducted himself like a prince of valets already, with his soft, warm hands and attentive adaptation to one's unexpressed desires. I answered in the negative, naturally, employing the most affable term in my vocabulary, and the modest fellow seemed quite content, and glided cat-like out of the room. O, the power of bienfaisance in this land!

It was my first breakfast in bed. There was the light-colored coffee with an inch of creamy foam on its surface and a delicious flavor; and the cream, served hot in a taper silver pitcher; and the bread, light, puffy, and white as snow. That was all, and must suffice until ten or eleven o'clock. Think of our American breakfasts of tough beefsteak, hot potatoes, and muffins, washed down by a cup of murky coffee! It may be enervating to take one's coffee in bed, but it's mighty pleasant when the morning mists are in your eyes and a dull good nature in your heart. But then, it's practiced only by ladies, petits crevés, and----

"Well " says Frank, appearing at my door to interrupt the reverie, clad in a loose, richly-worked morning gown and cigarette in hand, "how are you getting on?"

" It's my first real Parisian déjeuner," I reply.

"Like it, eh!" he asked, sitting down in an easy chair and lolling back in his careless way. "Ah, you shall dine with Martinez someday. Spanish friend of mine; great connoisseur of paintings, china, bronzes, dinners, and all that sort of thing. He's like Kent in some respects."

"Where is Kent by the way? I haven't seen him this morning."

"Kent! Oh, he was up long ago, took his cold bath and coffee, and now he's hard to work in the study. Jolly good fellow, Kent; student of human nature, you know. --- I'm in earnest, really. Read of such characters, but never met one of the genuine stamp before. And he is a student --- George ! he's got a pile of notes on his jaunts in Great Britain that would make three ordinary octavo volumes. One year---aye, over a year--- here in Paris. the Lord knows how much longer he's going to stay. Deuced hard student, Kent."

"But he do'n't seem to be reading up anything special just now," I venture to remark.

"You don't understand --- not reading! Why he never ceases a minute, foi de citoyen ! He goes to the café, the theatre, the clubs, the Bois, the churches, with the same purpose uppermost in his pate; and he watches, listens,---examines, and notes down, and all the time you would think he was idling and unoccupied. The world's his school, don't you see and men and women are his books. Though he has his paper books, too --- George ! you couldn't get him away from them. Marvellous head for learning; studies Huxley or Comptê with all the enthusiasm he reads Rousseau or Alfred de Musset; sees beauty in a nice demonstration in Euclid ---peace to his ashes ! ---as he does in a fine painting or a pretty woman. Camden calls it equipoise of heart and intellect--- ha!--- but he's an odd genius, Kent, that's true."

His cigarette had burned down by this time, and rising with a yawn, he proposed we dress and walk over to the Ambulance. In half an hour we were out on the avenue, making for our destination. Frank talked all the way in his glib, dashing way, heedless where his shafts fell, and changing the subject with the most incidental suggestion. Arriving at the camp, he made straight for the office, and had his name enrolled on the volunteer service, having a comical fear, as he confessed, that his resolution might fail him, if he waited longer. "But now," said he, contemplating his signature with a rueful countenance, "I'm launched on a sea of peril and privation, morbleu!"

It would the height of boredom and folly to attempt a detailed description of the Ambulance as it then was. Later in the siege, Kent and I had the honor of conducting through the wards a medical gentleman of considerable repute in Paris, and, in order to offer you a general idea of the organization, we would ask you to accompany us in his society, with as much patience and indulgence as you may command.

He was a short, stout, paunchy man, with a red, plethoric face, spectacles, and a big-knobbed cane, which he rapped smartly on the floor now and then to give greater emphasis to his speech. Rather pompons at first, and punctilious to a hair, his native vivacity and enthusiasm for science would frequently get the better, and revealed the talkative Parisian and true philosopher. He had been visiting the prominent ambulances in the city, he said, for the purpose of gathering material for a Thèse he designed writing and presenting before the Academy of Sciences. Of the American ambulance he had heard a good deal from his friend and colleague, Monsieur Dubois, but had not up to this time found opportunity to come and see it, though all the press had been so flattering in its commendations. He became very voluble on further acquaintance, and rattled on like one deeply interested in his subject ---his round eyes twinkling eloquently and his cane thumping unceasingly.

He was pleased in the first place with the exterior of the Ambulance, for, like most of his countrymen, he had an eye to the artistic and aesthetic side of things. He regarded it for some time ---so fresh and picturesque with its fore-ground of evergreens and shrubs, its rows of white tents, with their flags flying gaily, its round pavilion with conical peak, its flag-staff, and its darker barracks extending round the quadrangle in the back-ground.

"Very pretty-charming," he exclaimed at last with sincere admiration; "it is a veritable city of tents, and so bright and cheerful looking; mais --- ahem! monsieur, I have many questions to ask you, but not now, --- no, not now. And those fine wagons over there with the superb horses attached --- is that your service volant ?"

Kent replied in the affirmative, and told him how American gentlemen resident in Paris had given up their elegant spans to the service of transportation in the ambulance.

"Ah, vos Américains!" was the sole rejoinder. Evidently the old gentleman was not in the secret; "cela me fend le coeur de les voir extenués", says Maitre Jacques of Harpagon's "pauvres animaux" and no doubt it would have struck grief to the hearts of these good gentlemen to wake up some morning and find their noble steeds cut and quartered for the breakfast of Jacques and Jules. At any rate it was safer to have them under the protecting banner of the Red cross. On entering the grounds, our visitors glanced round at the throng of volunteers sauntering about, and asked curiously:---

"But who are these gentlemen, messieurs ?"

Kent explained that they were members of the volunteer staff, which was divided into two squads, doing duty on alternate days, and pointed out several of the more prominent.

"But they are men of wealth and high standing in society," said the little gentleman in surprise.

"Certainly, sir; but that consideration doesn't seem to make any difference with their picking up a wounded man or dressing an injured limb on the field."

"And --- and --- ahem! pardon the question, monsieur,--- are the services rendered, gratuitous --- I mean of course, altogether?" and the round red face of the little man grew redder, and the cane rapped faster than ever.

"Entirely so, sir."

"Strange; it is strange," he remarked musingly, "the system will not work among us. It is most noble, most generous, most humane in them."

Indeed to see a well known artist or banker assisting in surgical operations, engaged in dressings, and even descending, when necessary, to the menial duties of a common infirmier, was a matter of wonder to most Frenchmen. A Parisian could not possibly undertake it without a derogation of his personal dignity in his own estimation and in the estimation of others. Our present visitor acknowledged this and with growing surprise, followed us into the wards, after having examined the canvass and fly on the outside. It was in the afternoon, and the wards were neat, clean, and in perfect order; several of the lady nurses were seated by the bedside of the wounded reading to or writing letters for them; and some were playing écarté or backgammon with those who had become convalescent. Altogether it was a pretty and homelike picture even to those who were accustomed to look upon it day after day.

The little doctor looked unutterable surprise. He was too well bed to express it directly, had he been able to do so, perhaps; as he was he simply beamed round through his spectacles in amazement. Two or three of these ladies he had met at the most refined and fashionable circles in Paris, and now here they were by the sides of poor, rude, illiterate soldiers in the wards of a hospital. He didn't appear to understand it at all; finally, however, after some confusion, and much hemming, and thumping on the board-floors, he regained his composure sufficiently to converse with the "Madames" ---bow urbanely and softly he pronounced the word ---of his acquaintance. In taking leave, he said to the Marquise de Borel, with naïve warmth of sentiment, his beaver doffed the while, and his eyes looking every emotion:

"Ah, Madame, c'est poétique, nay heroic, this sacrifice of self and comforts to relieve the sufferings of the poor children of France. It is your gracious presence, your soothing words, your tender care, your silent sympathy, which works the quick cure. Was it not our Ambrose Paré who said, ---' I dress the wounds, ---God cures them?' But your good doctor here may say, --- I dress the wounds, --- the ladies, with God's help, do the rest.' "

At the sight of the wounded, however, the little doctor was a changed man; his professional vanity, of which he had his full share, was piqued, and the gallantry of the man of the world lost in the instincts of the pure scientist. He went snuffing suspiciously about and critically examining fractures, amputations, and appliances for their treatment; nothing escaped his keen and experienced eye.

"What" he exclaimed, "no smell, no hospital odor---ah?" It was an enigma to him, as it was to most others of his countrymen, this absence of the usual sickening odors that offend the senses and cause nausea even in the far-famed hospital of Laripoisière. The air here was absolutely pure and healthful.

"But," he continued, looking at the thin covering of the tent, "surely you cannot keep out the cold, too."

He was assured that it was not only possible, but had been done all the winter unusually severe as it had been. Then Kent showed him the furnaces, and the warm air pipes, and the registers, and explained at length the whole system of heating; he furnished him with the statistics of the temperature, and told him how, during the bitter cold nights of December, when men were freezing to death at the outposts, a uniform temperature of 15° to 18° (centigrade) had been maintained without forcing the fires.

The doctor was exceedingly interested, amazed, delighted; he forgot his professional dignity altogether, and rushed up and down the wards, and in and out, testing everything with his own hands, and noting down his observations in a little book. Innumerable queries were poured in upon poor Kent, and the old gentleman's efforts to repress his sensations of surprise and delight were very comical to see.

"Ah yes, I see, yes, yes; but --- hem ! --- this pipe --- ha ! --- is it so? (writing in his book). It is admirable; and the trench there, is that American? wonderful! (rapping with his cane) a most ingenious arrangement---and what can be the use of this ?" etc

He was particularly struck with the respective percentages of deaths after amputation and conservation of fractures of the thigh and leg. "Mon Dieu," he said, frankly, "look at the ambulance in the Grand Hotel twenty amputations and twenty deaths. And of those under conservative treatment! pass on. gentlemen, pass on. Your men, too, look happy, contented, and well fed; that is a great point too much neglected in our hospitals. The treatment, nay, the maltreatment and neglect of the wounded in the Palais de l'Industrie is something fearful. Ah, monsieur, 'tis a good work you are doing, you Americans." Finally we reached the Pharmacy, and the doctor being thoroughly conversant with this department, his spirits rose accordingly as he crossed the threshold.

"No medicines ---no drugs, eh ? and where are your teas, monsieur?"

"In our wines," sir, Kent replied, and the old gentleman stared at first, then smiled understandingly.

"Bon! and what is this stuff you use for dressing wounds? I have seen but little lint here."

"We call it oakum, sir; it's made from the ends of rotten old ropes, and has proved invaluable," and he went on to dilate upon its antiseptic qualities.

"Very good, cheap, and easily procured; it's exactly what we want," said the doctor, again scribbling in his book." What can you not do, you Americans? Ah, monsieur, if the French artisan had some of your practical common sense and cleverness of improvisation, he would be the most perfect workman in the world."

We had by this time gone the round of the camp, and seen all there was to be seen, and before taking his leave, begged the old gentleman to inscribe his name on the register.

"You shall have it with pleasure," he replied to our request, sitting down at the desk, and running over the signatures in the book. "Ah, a long list! and who is this? Gosselin? truly, and Larrey, and Doremburg, and the great doctor Ricord, and Nélaton---what is it he writes? 'Most excellent results obtained by very simple means'. Bon! that is the idea exactly. And here is Guerin, too---his pen-and-needle autograph is not to be mistaken. 'I am happy to echo the sentiment of my eminent colleague, M. Nelaton,' he says. Well, it must be very agreeable to receive the visits and commendations of these distinguished men. But ---pardonnez moi---there is my poor scrawl. And now, messieurs," he said rising and extending two fingers of his left hand, "I must bid you good day; I have kept you too long already. Thank you very much for your courtesy, messieurs. This is the way out? Thank you, I see now, good-day, adieu, messieurs," and placing his hand on his heart, and bowing and smiling, he took his leave. The last we saw of this little doctor, he was toddling down the avenue de l'Emperatrice, head dropped in a reflective mood, and the knob of his cane braced against his chin, Esculapian fashion.

IT was a warm, sunny Sabbath morning, and the Staff and Volunteers were assembled in the front grounds of the Ambulance, dispersed among the green shrubbery, and awaiting the arrival of the expected visitors, --- Minister Washburn, Baron Larrey, and Chevalier Wicoff. The camp looked quite picturesque on this bright morning of the autumn, ---the uniformed throng, the cool, fresh tents, the flags flying from barrack and pole, lending it an attractive, and even gay appearance.

Yonder by the entrance-tent is Captain Bowles, Banker, and grouped around him, the gallant members of his squad; and yonder, Captain J. K. Riggs, also surrounded by rank and file --- Will Dryer, Gunther, Keeler, and others. On the office-platform sit long whiskered Camden with his inevitable cigar, the Doctor, Ward, and the Dominie, who is conversing with Professor Blanqui, philologist. Mrs. Cass, lacrimose and resigned, is bending over her desk in the sitting-room, consoled only by the twittering of her light-hearted canary in its pendant cage. Strange that she don't see the interesting scene being enacted between Dupré, the handsome young painter, and Mlle. Blanchard, on the sofa! Among a group of ladies near tent No. 2 towers the tall form of the major---Major O'Flynn of Her Majesty's Indian army, whose famed steed, Garryowen, will be seen aways off, pawing the earth in pride of birth and blood. Frank is darting about from group to group, shaking everyone by the hand, and talking and laughing all the while. Madame Bernois is there, and Kent and Chef with his yellow dog, and a score more of familiar forms and faces, which rise up with strange vividness as one falls into the connected train of associations.

Such was the scene that greeted the eyes of Mr. Washburn and his friends, when they drove up to the gates of the Ambulance, that fall morning. Baron Larrey came in a private coupé, escorted by two aids, while His Excellency came in a fiacre, and unattended except by the chevalier, who accompanied him as a visitor and not in an official capacity. One could judge something of the character of the two men even from this trivial occurrence.

Mr. Washburn is a tall, powerfully-built man, of commanding presence, with keen, not unkindly eyes, peering out from under shaggy eyebrows, strait, iron-gray-hair, and. large, strong features expressive of great sagacity, decision, and energy. He had shown himself to be possessed of wonderful natural ability for executive administration, and massive common sense, and good judgment. It will be remembered how for his unwearied watchfulness over the moneyed interest of the country, and for his fearless exposure of fraudulent practices in the United States Senate, he received the inelegant but strongly suggestive epithet of the "bull-dog of the Treasury." But it is in Paris chiefly that Mr. Washburn has won for himself a distinguished place in history. He alone of all the representatives of the greater powers, remained firm and unmoved at his post of duty. Throughout the war, he has been, as some one has remarked, the mind of the Diplomatic Corps.

The Baron is a very different class of man. He is the son of the Larrey of historic renown, who attended the great Napoleon in nearly all of his military campaigns; his head is white with the snows of over sixty winters, but his frame is still stout and compact, his step firm and elastic, his energy and vitality unimpaired. He seems to be a proud, silent, severe old man, preserving the stern rigor and military precision of a soldier of the old regime. At times you might fancy him the scion of some impoverished family of the noblesse, there is something so sad and noble in the thoughtful countenance He is generally abstracted in mood, but when he speaks, it is sharply and sententiously, though a true Frenchman in his adherence to form and ceremony.

These reflections on the old nobleman, and the delightful web of romance I was beginning to weave round him, were interrupted rudely by a hearty slap on the back.

"Well Frank?" I knew who it was as well as I knew the purr of Mlle. Blanchard's tortoise-shell cat from the purr of all the other cats of the neighborhood.

"Do you want an introduction ---off-hand, you know, c'est à moi, mon brave --- to Wicoff, the chevalier?"

"Very much, my dear; I've been in hysterics to"---

"Yes? well, that's good! He's the biggest ass this side the ---Rhine;" and taking my arm, he walked me toward the Round Tent, volunteering a deal of information on the way, which none but Frank could have obtained so readily and used so indiscriminately.

"And so, you see," he concluded, "the man has become notorious as a parasite of the Emperor, and a protegé of the Princess Mathilde. If ever a gallery of European celebrities is gotten up, he will stand out prominent as a political adventurer and a literary --- say, look at him now, through the fold of the tent there! aint a bad-looking fellow, is he? Oh, he's polite enough, and all that, but as pompous as an ass, sir. He expresses himself with the dogmatism of a Johnson. Cæsars! you can hear that grunt from here. What hasn't the chevalier seen in his short life? writer, diplomatist, traveler, lover, reporter ---but tenez ! here we are, and now for a Lord Burleigh nod."

Indeed, he received us graciously enough for a man of the world, bestowing the nod that Frank presaged with a condescension that quite went to one's heart. I observed him closely and with considerable interest, for I had become acquainted with him previously through his book. Of the only two books at our apartments suited to my taste at the time, Wordsworth was one and My Courtship the other; and here before me was the hero of that strange romance. For the benefit of the interested, it may be stated by the way, that Miss Gamble, the persecuted beauty of the tale, resides at present in London, having probably experienced the truth of that pithy remark of George Eliot's on the" pillulous smallness" of prematrimonial acquaintanceships.

Meanwhile Mr. Washburn and the Baron, escorted by the staff and volunteers, walked round inspecting the different wards. They were approaching our own tent, for the order and cleanliness of which Frank and I were both naturally solicitous, when sounds quite destructive of the quiet and discipline necessary, were heard coming from the interior.

"Ah, qu'il est beau!"

Somebody sang in tones unutterably painful in their hilarious gayety. Frank groaned aloud, and made a vain attempt to drown the song in glib talk, adroitly managing to detain the party a minute in the hope of the occupant becoming aware of the presence of visitors and leaving off the accursed air. But it was of no use: Within a few feet of the door, another and louder refrain burst forth as if in mocking derision ----

"Ah, qu'il est beau,
Tum --- Tum -- tum- tum"

"S'George !" cried Frank, irritated beyond endurance, and breaking through all ceremony, he rushed headlong into the ward. "I'll 'tum---tum' you, Master Alphonse! "

His excellency only smiled and looked amused, the Baron frowned in displeasure, and followed the guide inside. Sure enough, it was Alphonse the dancer, and he had struck an attitude, and was rehearsing to the rows of empty beds the couplets of the merry Gens d'Armes in Genevieve de Brabant. No sooner, however, did he catch sight. of the indignant countenance of Achates than with a final caper he bounded up, and then vanished precipitously. He was a stout, wiry, limber rascal, this Alphonse, strutting about in his uniform and cocking his ambulance kepé with a most roué and knowing air. The ends of his twirling moustache were always carefully waxed, his colored tie unimpeachable, his shoes neat and shining; a gay, lighthearted, cheerful body, he was forever humming the last popular air of the cafés chantants, or repeating the latest witticism of the clubs. He never failed to bow gallantly to the ladies when they passed. From his youth upward he had been a professional can-can dancer, and incredible stories were told of his terpsichorean feats at Mabille; his very talk was remarked to be spiced with reminiscences of Valentino, and all his similies drawn from experiences in dancing-halls and estaminets. At times, too, when his regular line of employment failed, he was accustomed to let himself out in the character of a chevalier du lustre, one of those susceptible gentlemen who are observed to occupy the parquette of a Paris theatre and occasionally clap with enthusiastic vigor. With all these amiable and attractive qualities, one could not pick up, outside of his profession, a lazier, more shiftless, and thoroughly worthless fellow. He will shirk respectable manual work of any kind; to lie, cheat, and deceive are with him Spartan virtues of inestimable value. He has no principles, except those of the knave and the Red, and the idea of morality is as remote from his comprehension as Jean Guigon's fine sculptures on the Louvre.

The ward, however, was in good order, and no further interruption occurred to break the quiet of the camp. More than once our visitors took occasion to testify their satisfaction with the neatness, commodiousness, and completeness of the arrangements. It was extremely gratifying, of course; for a word of commendation from the Baron was as good as a certificate from the Academy. They left us with strong assurance of the success of the enterprise.

In the afternoon, after dinner, Frank and I were sitting out on the office-platform in supreme enjoyment of the brightness and the sunshine, when Mlle. Blanchard, neatly dressed and winning as ever, came tripping along with a gay invitation to take a turn round the Bois.

"Ça ira!" said Frank rising lazily, "I say, you young man jump in with Mademoiselle, and see that you don't"----

But I was already in the box with Celestine, and Achates was constrained to get in beside the pretty Jewess.

"Monsieur Prettyman said I could take the coupé this afternoon," she remarked, " and so I took it. One does get so little fresh air in these horrid times, to be sure."

To be sure," echoed Frank.

"I don't know what I should do --- really I don't, if Cantatrice didn't take me to the Halles with her in the morning. Oh, the freshness of these mornings. And then, the crowds at the markets, the piles of fruits and vegetables, the cries of the venders, the pushing, the confusion, the hubbub."----

"As if I hadn't seen it all a score of times," interrupted Frank; "you're thinking of something else, Mademoiselle, why don't you recognize that young fellow's salutation there?"

We were passing the entrance-tent, and Dupré, leaning on his cane, bowed distantly to the carriage as it went on.

"Ho---ho!" I heard Frank mutter to his fair companion.

"Well?" her lip was curling now and there was an ominous flash in her dark eyes.

"What is the matter? tell me, my dear."

"Oh, we had a quarrel, as usual. He made a pastel of me, and then, forsooth, I couldn't see it; for ----but these painters are such turkey-cocks professionally."

"He's a battle-scene painter, is he not?"

"Yes; he has some scenes from the Crimea, and is working up subjects from the sorties about Paris. He had a piece in the salon of last year, and the critics spoke well of it. Goupil thinks he will make his mark, but --- pah ! --- he wants money."

"You seem to take some interest in him," was the next careless remark. The large eyes looked at the speaker in wonder for a minute, and then, melted into an arch smile.

" Of course; why not ?" she asked innocently.

"I suppose you might even love him, perhaps ---eh ?" Frank was clearly a little out of his mind this afternoon. His indolent nonchalance, as he leaned back in the carriage with one hand in his pocket, and his eyes fixed on the heavens, as if intent on finding the dipper in the day time, was inexcusable. And what uncivil, not to say, impertinent personality, in that last allusion!

"I suppose so." How frank and matter of fact! Alas, I thought, where is the bashfulness and charming confusion at the acknowledgment of youthful loves? But this girl was brought up and educated in France; that is the point, and allowances must be made for differences of training and feeling.

"And pray, how many other devoted admirers have you, Miss Blanchard?"

" Only one," she answered sweetly. "You know him, Emile Geradin; he was up to the Ambulance last Sunday, the young fellow with the light whiskers and beautiful eyes. He's in a glass factory --- I detest factories of any kind---and yet Monsieur Buchand, the proprietor, says he's doing well."

"And you like him better than ----- ?"

"Please, monsieur, haven't I made full confession? Well, yes, no, really I don't know. Dupré took me to the Opera the other night."

"Opera!" Frank said enquiringly, for the first time looking the girl squarely in the face," what Opera?"

"Why Victor Hugo's Chatiments; haven't you heard it yet?"

"Pish! But, I say --- my dear, I say --- supposing now I should get down on my knees, and swear to love you with all the devotion of-----"

"Alors, alors, mon coeur bondira! mille accords. Mille voeux dans mon coeur retentiront alors," was the vivacious rejoinder.

"Good!" cried Frank, laughing heartily.

"And you Monsieur Baldwin, --- what would you do?" How charming she looked, reclining there on the cushions of the coupé in her tasty riding-robe, her pretty little mouth puckered up so demurely, and her black eyes gleaming tenderness and trust!

"Hem !" Frank was playing idly with his toothpick, and scarcely noticed the pretty beseechingness of the Jewess, and what was this air he was humming?---

were the words he sang.

Cruel! but he was repaid with usury. The jewelled fingers of the young coquette fell smartly across his ears, and Celestine turned in amazement to learn the cause of the uproarious laughter behind.

Meanwhile we were fairly out on the avenue de l' Emperatrice with the Bois looming up over the barricade, directly in front. The afternoon was bright and sunny, and good citizens had turned out for their wonted promenade; and looking back on the long gray stretch of the spacious avenue, you could see, scattered hither and yon, groups of pedestrians who seemed hardly to creep along. Not a carriage of any description was in sight. It was no longer the gay and crowded highway of by-gone days: the stream of ever-changing life, the press of elegant landaus, and tandems, and livened coaches, the glitter of dress and fashion, the Imperial equipage, the celebrities of the demi-monde, the mingled splendor and meanness, the pomp, the mirth, the shoddyism and nobility, --- had all passed away as if they had not been. Think of it ! does it not seem as if this desolation was sent as a just punishment for all the sin, the folly, the heartless scepticism, of this Vanity Fair? The scene is very different now.

Here citizen Jean of the Bourgeoisie, with wife and children looking happy and sociable, passes along; there a white-capped "bonne" in charge of a lot of rosy-cheeked youngsters, who are racing on the grass with a frisky little terrier; now it is a squad of Mobiles, devout, sober, orderly, and gaping about them in wonder; again a party of gaudily uniformed officers, the Bobadils of the army, strutting along with fierce moustaches and jingling spurs, inane, foppish, and shallow-brained. Some are on their way to the Bois, others to the bastions to visit friends doing guard-duty for the day. Many will go to Père Lachaise to crown Cavaignac's grave with immortelles, and many more to the heights of Trocadero to get a fifty centime peep of a Prussian sentinel. The Sabbath is their fête-day; all Paris then dons its holiday habit, and saunters forth for a stroll or a ride. The cafés are more brilliant and crowded than at other times, and, the opera opens in the evening with a programme of extraordinary excellence. Throngs of dissolute men and women, in their flaunting trappings of shame, promenade the Champ Elysée, the boulevards are given up to pleasure, lorettes, and strangers, and the Cirque, the merry-go-rounds, and the cafés chantants are scenes of unrestrained merriment and sensual enjoyment. Work and play go hand in hand, and gossip, idleness, and lovemaking is part of the business of the hour. The Parisian's haven of rest is, not his own cosy room, with books and contemplation for companions, but the gardens of St. Cloud or Versailles. But amid all the mad whirl of pleasure and frivolity, the cloyed heart of the stranger goes back, with an infinite sense of relief and satisfaction, to the sweet memories of the quiet New England Sabbath, as the heart of the weary, wandering Clavoyard is said to go back longingly to his native mountain-home.

Turning into the Bois, we drove down the avenue des Acacias. It was a sorry spectacle at first, the woods being entirely swept away for some two hundred yards beyond the ramparts, with nothing but the blackened stumps, to meet the view. On the side of Pré-Catelan to the borders of the lake, however, the park remained intact, except where here and there a single tree had been rooted from a clump. The same sense of desolation, the same absence of life and cheerfulness, the same gray barrenness of aspect were here, as on the avenue de l'Emperatrice. Occasionally we passed a barricade, and once or twice caught sight of artillery camps in the depths of the wood. The lake looked dreary and neglected, the tea-houses and saloons were untenanted, and the gardens had gone to waste.

And so the pleasant afternoons of September wore away. There was little to do but bask in the warmth and sunshine of the season, and while away the hours of idleness as best we could. It was in those days that Frank and Martinez used to drive round in their four-in-hand English box and take us out on delightful drives to Neuilly, St. Denis, and the Bois, and many a flying hour did we spend in the company of Kent, wandering through the historic scenes of Paris and learning the legend of each stone and square. But October came at last, and with it a change in the monotony of our life, a change in which there was something both of the bitter and the sweet, as there is in all of our joys and sorrows.

One quiet Sabbath evening, while we were sitting in the volunteers' room, singing some of the old hymns that seemed so sweet and full of meaning now, Frank broke into the apartment in evening dress.

"Helloa!" was his hurried greeting, "aren't you fellows going round to Madam Moulton's this evening?"

"Who's going to be there?" asked Kent, running over the notes of the Stabat Mater.

"Oh, magnates, wits, parvenues, pretty women "

"I don't care about it," Kent replied quietly.

"And you ?" he said, turning to me.

"Thank you, Frank, I don't care about it either."

"Peste! See here Kent, there's something behind all this," said Frank, looking closely at him," What's up?"

Kent laughed. "Well," he said, "you have guessed it; there are rumors of an engagement at the outpots."

"Rumors are rumors, and they don't prevent you spending a sociable evening."

"Perhaps not; but look out, my dear Achates ---lovely night, is it not? too lovely to shut one's self up in a close room, confess now "

"Aha, I see ---I see; you are for the fortifications---eh? 'Tis not my vocation, Hal; adieu, mes chers," and in another moment the lively fellow was off.

And that evening we walked out to the Rue des Ramparts, and looked round for the usual stir among the soldiers there. It was a clear, still, moonlight night, and the earthworks looked dim and lifeless. Here and there faint lights streamed from a canteen, where some National guards were regaling themselves on warm coffee and a bit of brown bread. Mobiles were pacing their beats in the corner of the bastions, and others bivouacked beside their packs with their greatcoats on and their rifles piled up near by. In the quietness of the hour, the tramp of patrols passing and repassing could be heard very distinctly, and now and then the cry of " Sentinelles, prenez-garde à vous" rang out clear and melodious on the night air. The expected engagement was not to take place that night evidently, nor the next, nor for several nights yet. But one evening later, the whole camp was roused by intelligence from the Intendant department. There had been skirmishes in the vicinity of Rueil and Malmaison, and word had come at last to be in readiness for active service on the morrow.

THE morning of the eighth of October rose bright and clear. Orders had been received at head-quarters to be in readiness to move, and the whole camp was consequently in commotion. The volunteer service was larger than it had ever been before, and more completely equipped.

Each aid wore the usual navy cap with its shield bearing the red Geneva-cross, and the regulation brassard about his arm. The carriages were under the immediate command of an assistant surgeon, while the charge of the whole corps was entrusted to the head physician and a member of the committee. Each assistant surgeon was also supplied with the requisite amount of surgical dressings, and carried about his person all the necessary instruments for the temporary care of a wounded man on the battle field. An abundance of food and wine had been stowed away in the carriage holds, the water tanks filled, the bags of bandages and lint and the bottles of stimulants laid away, and all the preparations seemed to have been completed. But we had still to await orders as to our first destination. They soon came.

An English gentleman, his long white whiskers streaming in the wind, galloped furiously up to the gateway, and directed us to make as speedily as possible for the Porte Dauphine.

"Hark!" he cried raising his hand as an injunction for silence, "Do you hear that ?"

For a moment we listened, and then the dull roar of artillery, which had become so familiar a sound, but which in the hurry and bustle of preparation had been forgotten, broke upon the silence with an ominous roll. It was our tocsin. Every carriage was instantly manned, and in another minute the whole train with flags flying was dashing down the avenue de l'Emperatrice to the Porte Dauphine.

At the drawbridge all was quiet and undisturbed, and the guard directed us to drive at once to the Porte Maillot. Here the train was blocked up by an excited crowd, and word was sent to us to await further orders; which orders, when they came, allowed only three of our carriages to advance, our carriage was unfortunately the fourth.

" What the deuce is Wolf after? he's the Intendant here, isn't he Monsieur Rienzi ?" asked Frank. "It's all a piece of his red tape, I'll wager a franc."

" Diavolo! he is ze wolf no doubt, but he have the sheep's head to-day," and the Italian in his hasty, impetuous manner, jumped from the carriage, strode up to the Intendant's quarters, and disappeared within the door. In a little while he returned to us with an exultant light in his dark eyes he had been successful in obtaining permission for one more conveyance to proceed.

The lot falling on us, we got all in readiness, and drove up to the gate as though to pass through.

"Ha !" cried out a dapper little officer, posting himself in a military attitude in our front, " Qu'est ce que vous faites la ? arrêtez, m'sieu ; arrêtez, je dis."

"Que fais-je ?" retorted the quick-tempered Italian, taking offense at the Frenchman's address, "Parbleu! mais qui êtes-vous que vous osez nous arrêter? allez, cocher, allez."

But the coachman could not drive on, and it is difficult to say what would have been the termination of the squabble, had not an aide-de-camp of the Intendant at this moment rode up and ordered that the carriage be allowed to pass. As the officer reluctantly gave way to let us go by, the eyes of the two disputants met. Oh, it was comical --- the malicious scowl on the face of the one and the leer of triumph on that of the other! These passionate natures force the bubbles of deep feeling to the surface.

We had hardly gone a hundred feet beyond the drawbridge, when loud shouts of "Vive la République!" "Vive Rochefort !" drew our attention to the barrier whence they arose; and just in time to see the gentleman thus enthusiastically cheered, darting through the crowd and doffing his hat to acknowledge each salutation. He hastily joined two gentlemen in advance, and they were about to continue their walk together, when they caught sight of our carriage, and signaling to us to stop a minute, approached and jumped in. They shook hands with Signor Rienzi at once, and he, with characteristic politeness, introduced them to us as Messrs. Ferry, Pellatan, and Rochefort. They honored us with a condescending nod, and we sank back on our seats with the pleasurable satisfaction of having been recognized by the chiefs of the nation.

M. Jules Ferry was a gentleman of middle age, with a high forehead, intelligent eyes, a firm mouth, long whiskers flowing to either side, and having a general expression of shrewdness, promptness, and practicableness. M. Pellatan, also a member of the government, seemed a much older man, and there were white streaks in his hair and beard and furrows on his cheeks and brow. The broad and serious, but not striking features, conveyed the impression of honesty and sincerity of purpose, though lacking in energy and liveliness. Rochefort, at that time, was slenderly made, with a large, long head, narrow brow, a thin, sallow, passive countenance, prominent cheekbones, and large, deep, rolling, glassy eyes --- the most remarkable characteristics of the man.

During the ride, Rochefort seldom spoke, remaining gloomy and abstracted; Pellatan edged in an occasional remark, but always, with mildness; Ferry did all the talking, and seemed never to permit his vivacity to droop or his responsibilities as a member of the government to depress his flow of spirits. Before we reached the Place du Trône we had joined the rest of our train. The Place was filled with ambulances volantes, and there, on halting, the representatives of the government were received with repeated acclamations by the staff and volunteers. Upon the granite base in the center of the Place, a temporary wooden platform had been erected, as a kind of elevation from which to view the movements of the troops and the progress of the contest: thither M. Rochefort and his colleagues, followed by a number of our corps, ascended.

While awaiting the word of departure, Frank and I stole away to the fortifications, and stood near one of the bastions where the men were discharging a gun of heavy calibre. Numbers of boys "en blouses" were loafing about the powder-magazine, watching the artillery-men, and thrusting their fingers in their ears when the cannon was touched off. Peeping through one of the apertures, we could see that the barricades rose up perpendicularly some thirty feet, and that beyond the empty moat there extended for a considerable distance an open marsh --- a kind of natural protection against approach and surprise in that direction. It seemed impossible for an enemy to come within miles of such a battery with impunity. In the distance, loomed the unbroken line of hills, which were held by the Prussians; and now and then a puff of smoke could be seen, followed, after an interval, by the dull report of the gun. The troops were on the way to action, and so we hastened back to the Place.

It was at first impossible for us to proceed, the road being so jammed with ambulance trains; but when the facts of our situation were made known at head-quarters, a speedy answer came, in the person of Dr. Sarrazin, who dashing up on his famous bay, shouted in a stentorian voice:

"L'ambulance Américaine en avant!"

And to the front we went, passing by scores of great, lumbering omnibuses, and out upon the unobstructed avenue. This little incident established a precedence for us, for ever afterward we had the honor of holding the van of the French army trains.

Passing the barricade at the other end of the Place, we took the road to Nanterre, and, after a short ride, turned off from this, and jogging over an uneven potato patch, finally emerged into n rising meadow backed by vine-yards and crowned by an old gray mill. At the summit of the hill, we halted to rest the horses ; we were really, without knowing it at the time, on the field of battle, under the very guns of Mont Valerien.

An open expanse of grain-field sloped down before us, till it ended in an abrupt knoll. Here the French reserve was stationed with Trochu and some others in the rear. A little in advance, on a rising piece of ground, we saw the battery whose guns shook the hill as we were ascending. Away in the distance rose the wooded heights and earthworks of the Prussians; and there, too, ran the aqueduct of Marly; from which, it was said, King William, the crown prince, and staff, were watching the progress of the struggle. The atmosphere was sulphurous, and the heavens clouded with smoke ; the woods occupied by the enemy, were alive with puffs of artillery; and now and then the big guns of Mont Valerien shook the ground beneath, and made the affrighted horses snort and plunge. The shrieking shells shot overhead; and whirling on, struck with a dull thug among the enemy's redoubts. Affairs began to look more like work; the aids equipped themselves for service, the volunteers got out their brancards, and the train pushed forward again, but slowly and cautiously.

We had gone but a little way when a body of horsemen were made out approaching our position. As they drew nearer, another halt was made, and the Dominie rushing out, shouted as they came abreast of us:

"Which way shall we go, sir?" The whole staff slackened its speed --- for it proved to be Ducrot's brave army staff--- and the general reigning his steed hack on its haunches, replied in strong, full tones : --

"Move on, sir; move on !" and signing to his aids, away they galloped again, and soon disappeared beneath the brow of the hill. The minute after an aide-de-camp returned, and pointing to the French and American flags which waved from the wagontops,

"For heaven's sake, gentlemen, take down your flags: the general commands it," he cried hoarsely, and then striking spurs into his horse, and wheeling round, sped away through the high grain in the direction the staff had taken. The flags came down instantly.

Leaving the wagons here, a number of the corps proceeded on foot. As we went on a remarkable panorama spread out to view. On one side was the battery of mitrailleuse, hard at work and barely allowing the cannon to cool ; one's heart stood still when these fearful engines of war shot forth their fatal missiles ---rattling, roaring, whizzing, shrieking, till they were lost to the eye in the far off woods with a final hiss and almost imperceptible crash. The gunners, grim, stout, blackened, dirty, hungry-looking fellows, plied their task well and rapidly ; watching with eager eyes the effect of each discharge, and when success crowned their aim, grinning among themselves with horrible maliciousness, at the same time kneeling down to pluck a turnip, and then reloading for another trial. On the other side was stationed a regiment of the reserve; and at irregular distances down the left, other regiments were standing at order arms. It was one of these inexplicable blunders which the French commanders committed not a few times during this unhappy war --- thousands of men being placed in range of the Prussian batteries and unprotected from their fire. Beneath and to the right lay the village of Nanterre, looking like a chess-board with its neat white houses ranged in regular rows. The streets were entirely deserted, and the whole place still and lifeless. Further on was Rueil, with the spire of its pretty parish church, where Josephine and Hortense lie buried, rising conspicuous over the flat roofs of the dwellings. To the left, ensconced in the dark clump of trees, could be seen the chateau of Malmaison, Napoleon's old home, and after that the famous chateau of Buzenval, and then the park of St. Cloud.

The object of this sortie, like all others, was to make a breach in the circle de fer environing the city, and this with the hope of joining connections with the army of the West. The point of attack which the French commanders had chosen, was Malmaison, the park surrounding the old chateau being in the possession of the enemy; so that to seize upon this vantage-ground became the primary aim of our troops. The detachments under Martenot detailed for this duty had passed Nanterre and Rueil, and at the moment we were viewing the situation from the hill, were in the vicinity of Malmaison. Thierrard with his franc-tireurs and engineers had pierced the wall on the east and entered the park, was the next announcement, while the same operation had been successfully performed on the south-west side by some mobiles of the garrison of Mont Valerian. But lo! the foe had "decampé"; not a Prussian was to be seen.

It was at this moment we caught sight of the red liners forcing their way across a cleared space. They were evidently pushing on to Bougival. But it was only for a moment, for the next, they were hidden in the woods. The batteries were fearful to hear now. Mont Valerian, towering up in the smoky atmosphere, was like some gigantic demon; its shells fell thick and fast, and the air seemed to vibrate with their awful whiz-z and whir-r and crash. The gunners at the battery had caught sight of something---what it was we couldn't tell---and were firing in rapid succession. At times, between the roar of the great guns, the rattling volley of musketry could be heard. That came from the plain of Gennevilliers, where Ribeaux with his éclaireurs were engaged, on the banks of the Seine, in uncovering an ambuscade on the other bank of the river. They were doing splendidly, we heard.

Here a part of our corps left us and moved down the slope to Rueil. They were evidently excited by the scene, for we could hear, them singing as they tramped on---" Marching through Georgia "---at the top of their voices, --- Will Dryer's high tenor and the gruff basso of Captain Bowles being easily distinguishable. Cheer after cheer rose from the French reserve, and all along the line.

"What's that for?" called out Frank to a returning squad.

"Les Américains !" a voice replied. Our friends' enthusiasm had aroused their admiration.

But we had seen all there was to be seen, and Frank and I started with the first carriage-load. We drove carefully, for the poor fellows were suffering severely, and the slightest jolt made them cry out with pain. It was far into the night when they thundered across the draw-bridge of the Porte Maillot.

"Hola! de quelle ambulance êtes vous?" By the glare of the torches we saw the gleam of an armed guard.

"L'ambulance Américaine "

"Passez."

Inside the walls were assembled an anxious crowd. With some difficulty we got through the press, and at last drove into the ambulance grounds with our wagon load of sufferers.