ON the night of the eighteenth of January all the aids had been busy until a late hour. Mr. Kent, Frank and I had been engaged in the chevalier's house, and it being already so far into the night, we agreed to remain there till morning. It must have been in the gray dawn that Madame Bernois awaked us; at any rate we were fearfully sleepy, and tired, and aching in back and limb. But we got up, dressed ourselves, washed down a scanty breakfast with a bowl of coffee, and hurried over to the ambulance.

We were just in time, for the carriages were on the point of starting, and delay would have been failure. The same preparations had been made as in the affair of Malmaison. On this occasion, there was an addition to the train in the shape of a portable cooking-stove. This singular looking machine, which had been one of the indispensable attachments of a flying ambulance in our civil war, and the utility of which Dr. Evans was anxious to demonstrate to the French, was set upon a light four-wheeled carriage-box --- the food, fuel, and cooking utensils being in the fore part, and the coffee, wine, and water in three boilers in the rear, from which arose three slim pipes. Viewed from a distance, it looked like some mysterious engine of war. The camp was all alive, and when Mr. Bowles, the captain of one of the volunteer staffs, rode into the grounds, he was greeted with a rousing cheer. The boys were in good spirits, and every thing was an event. It really seemed as if we were going on a jolly jaunt to Saint Cloud.

When we entered the avenue de la Grande Armée, it might have been six o'clock. The morning was cold, cloudy, and dull with indications of rain; the broad highway was deserted, and there were no other sounds save the rumble of our wheels and the distant booming of cannon. Rattling past the big barricade, we saw a number of brown-bloused men and boys, with guns on their shoulders and talking excitedly, hastening in the same direction. At the Porte Maillot we were ordered to halt and report, and after much unnecessary delay and parley, at length succeeding in obtaining permission to go on. At the Pont du Neuilly we were again stopped ---wedged in among the hospital trains of our division that blocked up the road as far as one could see in front.

Looking forward one saw only a long, broken, irregular line. Bayonets, barrels, and trappings shone in the morning air, amid a confused mass of blue coats, gray blankets, cow-hide knapsacks, and red trousers. It had rained quite recently, and the roads were wet and muddy; but the troops began to move on more rapidly, and we found opportunity to scan them more closely. They were mostly young men, for the veterans were away in Germany. All were to all appearance scantily clad; and some had wrapped their blankets in toga-like folds about their shoulders and thrust their hands in to keep them warm. They had marched for two days, with but little rest, with no sleep, and without anything to eat except straw bread and oat-meal, washed down with a pint or two of sour wine. Quite a number looked pale, worn, and feverish; some limped, coughed, and groaned with pain; a few had no stockings, and their bare legs and ankles were exposed to the rain and cold; others had holes in their shoes so large that the frozen toes thrust themselves out. These were mostly of the Mobiles and troops of the line. The National Guard, this time incorporated in the brigade were nearly as bad and wretched looking. Their neatness and spruceness were gone. Nearly all shopkeepers, mechanics, artisans, they had been entirely "done up" by the hard marching and exposure of the last two or three days. It was a pitiful sight to see them dragging on their wearied limbs, so fagged and dejected; certainly they did not seem fit for action of any kind.

Meanwhile, by slow advances, we had reached the Place du Statue de Napoléon, and there halted again. The coffee machine became the "cynosure of neighboring eyes," and a wondering group was always standing about it. The good humored chef, ladle in hand, was distributing cups of hot coffee and morsels of straw-ribbed bread among the corps, and to all the hungry foot-soldiers he could conveniently reach. The genial influence of the collation was warming our hearts and cheering our spirits, and everybody was fast becoming jocular, when lo! what should we see coming slowly down the avenue but all the heavy ambulance trains, which had by some means, fair or foul, preceded us in the division.

"Great Caesar! what have we here? Whose work is this? Ho, ho!" laughed Frank, who stood beside me looking at the scene, with infinite amusement in his face.

On they came ---great lumbering omnibuses, quaint looking asylum and hospital vehicles, grocery wagons, old ambulance voitures, coupés, dog carts, and all kinds of two or four-wheeled conveyances under the sun. They presented a very droll spectacle, moving slowly along among the crowds of tired soldiers, the top of the omnibuses overloaded with messieurs from Paris, huddled together to get shelter from the rain. As the head of the strange caravan approached us, the cooking-stove was roaring a merry tune; and the hot coffee hissing and bubbling in the boilers sent forth its pleasant odors, which curling round and round the slender pipes, were wafted directly under the nostrils of our fratres vulnerati. How tantalizing must have been the fragrance ! How maliciously the chef threw out his corpulent body and grinned! How innocent and surprised we looked, with a cup of steaming coffee in one hand and a bit of bread in the other!

When the last of the long line had passed, there were divers winks, and nods, and significant smiles. I know it was uncharitable, I know it was unchristianlike, but what will you! There is many a Sganarelle has to be a médecin malgré lui. These gentilhommes had caught the disease of ambition to excel by fair means or foul, and much against our will, and not by our seeking, we were forced to administer a pill.

While we were still lingering over our meal, the medical staff of the French army drove up, and we had the honor of sharing sandwiches and coffee with some of its most distinguished members. Baron Larré leaned from his saddle, and tipped the contents of the tin cup with as much grace and sang froid as though he were sipping choice wine from crystal-cut glass in some salon.

"How many men do you suppose we can see from here, sir?" I asked of a gentleman.

"About fifteen thousand."

"And where is the attack to be made first; do you know?"

"Attack!" he said laughing, "why it's only a sham --- a mock battle; I have it from good authority that the whole affair is a mere demonstration gotten up to satisfy the honor of the National Guard, who have done nothing hitherto and refuse to give up without some show of fight at least. See! they've placed them in the center of the division."

It made one sick at heart after that, to look at these poor wretches led away to slaughter, for no doubt there would be fighting, and hard fighting, and many killed; and all this for honor. Truly, all men do not reason like Jack Falstaff on this subject. But by this time, a passage had been cleared in the road, and we were summoned to our posts, and whipping up, drove on to Rueil. On entering the village our carriage was stopped by some infirmiers of another ambulance, who wanted to transfer their wounded from the rude box wagon in which they were to our pendant couches. While this change was being effected, a crowd of habitans collected round the wagon, and insisted on my following them some distance across the way; which I did with the best grace possible, my gray domino trailing behind and my cowl thrown back from the head. At the door-sill of a wretched hovel lay a soldier of the National Guard. He was pale, ill looking, with matted hair, unkempt beard, and covered with dust and filth. There was a group of boys and women around him, whether railing at him or pitying his condition, I couldn't very well discover. Supposing the man was wounded, and somewhat indignant that no one bestirred himself to help him, I strode authoritatively up to his side, and bending over him, asked in my kindest and gentlest tones

"Ah, mon ami, qu'est ce que vous faîtes ? Avez-vous du mal ?"

A grunt was my answer.

"Etes-vous blessé?" I exclaimed in alarm, startled by his manner.

"Non, M'sieur," said a peasant, stepping forward and touching me on the shoulder, -"Il n'est pas blessé; mais seulement" ---and here he smiled for an instant, and the crowd --- confound them ! --- couldn't restrain a broad grin "seulement, vous savez, il est enivré."

I found my way back to the waggon in safety, I believe. I do not remember, however, ever having said anything of this my first experience as an "aide chirurgien."

Our carriage was filled with wounded before we reached the Mairie, whither we had been directed to go, and accordingly we turned about and drove home to the ambulance as quickly as consistent with our load. Returning we found all the ambulance trains drawn up on the outskirts of the village, their drivers, aids, and hangers-on standing round on foot; and we were driving on without stopping to inquire the cause, when one of our own wagons came up on its trip to the city.

"You'd better not go on," halloed one of the gentlemen as we passed, " the shells are falling like hail."

"Pshaw!" we replied, "all nonsense"; and we went on.

It seems that the Prussian batteries had opened fire to dislodge some troops in the vicinity of the village; and every now and then a shell fell short of its mark and exploded in the street. In the narrow, dismal streets, there was no sign of life; even the closed houses seemed to be unoccupied. The shells rushed screaming over our heads, and just as we reached the church---the church where Josephine and Hortense lie---, one struck the tower, and sent the pieces flying across the street. At the Mairie was a strange scene.

The front court was thronged. Round the steps and entrance of the building lay wounded soldiers, awaiting their turn to be attended to ---bleeding and suffering, their wounds rudely staunched or bound with rent pieces of cloth, and their equipments and trappings strewn about in utter confusion. Straw and dirt covered the pavement that was wont to be so clean and bright. Litter-bearers were passing in and out the doors; ambulance attachés and infirmiers were rushing aimlessly about among the wagons and talking in high keys; near the open gates soldiers and gamins and villagers were gathered, waiting to hear news of the battle from the mounted aids arriving every moment from the field. All was hurry and excitement. Men ran hither and thither, confusing the drivers, quarreling for the best places, jostling the wounded, and shouting for quiet, but never quiet themselves. At times the roar of artillery rose above this tumult, and the crash of a shell near by warned one of the nearness of the danger.

The interior of the Mairie presented a still stranger spectacle. The handsome, spacious apartments were at this moment nothing more than hospital wards. The beds, mattresses and brancards were so jumbled together that there was hardly room to pass between them. As you glanced over the rooms, linen, blankets, baskets, bandages, uniforms, side-arms, muskets, garments stained with blood, pale, wan faces, closely packed, met the eye in every direction; confusion, disorder, haste, and suffering all mingled. Sisters of mercy moved gently and swiftly in and out among the rows of wounded, and in the general disturbance, preserved the same quiet mien and peaceful calm.

Frank and I were bandaging the shattered leg of a mobile, who was bearing the operation manfully, but with agony hardly repressed, when Baron Larré, as he paced restlessly up and down the apartment, caught sight of Frank in the act of putting on the bandage rather hurriedly and without the regular professional plait or turn, which indeed seemed to us scarcely necessary under the circumstances. The Baron stopped in his walk, strode up to the bedside

"Monsieur!" he said, and pointed to the bandaged member. There was a stern reproof in his voice and gesture impossible not to heed. The leg was dressed at length and with care, but the silent old man marched away shaking his hoary head and frowning.

During the day, our wagons made three successive journeys to Rueil and back, each one having thus traversed a distance of over sixty miles. With the exception of the scanty meal of coffee and bread in the morning we had nothing to eat until nightfall. We lived on the excitement and novelty of the incidents. One adventure we had is worthy of mention.

It was late in the afternoon, and we were on our last trip to the ambulance. For some reason or other, Kent and I left the wagon for a minute requesting the driver to wait for us; but when we returned, the rogue had driven off, and was now a considerable distance up the road, trotting smartly for the city.

"What shall we do, Kent?" after we had stood for a full minute looking stupidly at the receding carriage.

"Try to catch it, certainly. That's all we can do now, for it may be the last wagon returning."

So we braced up, and followed on a run; but to no purpose: the wagon was soon lost in the distance. There was but one course left --- turn and walk back---in the hope of meeting another load home-ward bound. How dismal the avenue seemed, without a sign of life or habitation! In former days this had been a fashionable drive, and used to be crowded with splendid equipages and gaily-dressed promeneurs; now, not an animate thing was to be seen, the green trees that lined the walks were gone, only their stumps being visible---the houses were shut and barred, and the thresholds and gateways and gardens neglected and out of repair. As we entered the village, walking on the left side, several old crones, peeping through the shutters of the upper stories of the houses, kept screaming to us: "A droite ! à droite! pour Dieu, à droite!' and not without occasion, for a few paces further on we were startled by the explosion of a bomb near by. Quickening our step, we hurried on, hugging close to the houses on the north side. There was an awful stillness in the streets, broken only by the occasional bursting of shells. It was like a city of the dead. Reaching the Place du Caserne ---a spacious square set off by noble trees ---we saw at the other end, a troop of cavalry taking shelter behind a high, strongly built stone wall. Here, edged in among the horses we waited for some change of circumstances, which would be more favorable to our getting back to the city.

The Prussian batteries still keep up an unremitting fire, sternly returned by the guns of Mont Valerian. Shells are falling in the square. A man at the other end of the Place darts from his doorsill and runs for the north side. Unfortunate man. There comes a whizzing sound, a flash, a report, an the form falls forward without an audible cry. Quick as he falls, two or three black-stoled figures rush forth from neighboring dwellings, pick up the body and retire with it precipitately. Now comes a swifter and more terrible messenger, exploding so near as to make the trained war-steeds snort and tremble.

"Look! see how that little fragment tears up the roots of yonder tall tree ! But now the fire ceases for a time; God grant it may be the last of it! Some soldiers take advantage of the interval to scud away to a safer refuge. Bon, mes amis ! you are safe. Here it is again -whir, roar, crash, and the eternal din quicker, sharper, more deadly than before. What is it that holds the breath, weighs on the heart, fascinates the ear? Self is forgotten; thoughts of death and judgment will come; the soul is strangely moved. Is this being face to face with the unseeable? Is this fear?

The square is becoming more lifelike. From time to time stragglers skulk cautiously along the safer side; and ambulance wagons rumble by. But the shells fall thick as ever. One strikes the Caserne itself, and from the clouds of smoke rising we know it has caught fire; word comes, however, that it amounts to nothing, and is being fast quelled. While still undecided what to do, a heavy omnibus loaded with wounded turns the corner, and in attempting to keep too close to the walk, is struck by a piece of a shell, its wheel wrenched off, and the conveyance brought to the ground on that side. Assistance is speedily rendered, the break repaired, and the load sent on its way again.

The fire of the enemy was new changed, being so shifted as to come nearly parallel to our wall, and it was clearly time to move and seek other protection; so bidding our martial friends farewell, we joined a squad of National Guards just from the fields, and returning to Paris.

Some distance on, we came up with scores and scores of soldiers ---principally of the Guard who had evidently just arrived from the scene of the conflict---muddy, ragged, hatless, weaponless, woe-begone as any body of men I ever laid my eyes on. One could not help thinking of Falstaff's raw recruits, only these poor fellows were rather to be pitied. They seemed to be utterly demoralized and shaken with fear; no doubt the roar of cannons was yet ringing in their ears, and they saw in imagination their broken ranks swept by the terrific fire of the enemy and the bloody corpses of comrades by their side.

From Rueil to Nanterre there is a long stretch of road, open and unprotected on either side. Looking toward Paris, Mont Valerian rises on your right; and this fortress was now the mark of the enemy's fire. To traverse the road was to run the gaunt of both cross fires. At the last house on the outskirts of the village we halted to decide upon the next course to pursue. Behind the garden wall there was a crowd of men awaiting a cessation of the firing; a few had dashed on up the road and could now be seen, alternately stooping down to avoid the flying fragments of bursting shells and rushing madly forward again.

"Shall we go on, Kent?" I asked.

"Are you willing to go?"

"If you are."

"Come, then" he said, grasping my hand. We started, despite the warning cries of those behind, and ran; for long, intense minutes we ran, hand in hand, with the shells falling all around us. It was a wild, reckless race, but somehow we escaped injury, though at one time it seemed impossible. At the village we found one of our wagons in waiting, and jumping in with a sense of relief, drove home once more to the ambulance.

A hungry lot of gentlemen sat down to the supper-table that night. Wearied as we were, we were satisfied with the day's work and in good humor; the cold horse-meat strengthened and the wine warmed us, and jokes and anecdotes of the day went round. One of the drollest --- what might have been one of the gravest accidents --- was the destruction of the coffee-machine. Late in the day it was separated from the rest of the train, and the chef and his subaltern were obliged to leave it for a moment. While away they were startled by a terrific crash, and returning, there lay the machine shivered to atoms! The chef was a nine days' hero. We afterward learned from the Prussian sentinels that their gunners had mistaken it for some new kind of war-engine, and opened fire upon it.

HE had been brought in from the field of Buzenval late in the afternoon, suffering from an excessively. painful wound in the left leg. In consequence of the large number of severe cases received, some ---and poor René was among the number --- were hastily and only temporarily cared for.

The next day, however, after a careful examination of the injured member, it was decided that his only chances of life lay in its amputation. Gradually and with as much gentleness as possible the alternative was made known to him. When the full force of the announcement came upon him --- and it seemed some minutes before he apprehended its true meaning --- he wept like a child, as indeed he was in feeling and education. He implored the doctors in the most supplicating tones to alter --- to recall their decision; he could not have his leg taken off; he would die from the operation, he was sure he would.

From this natural burst of grief, he sank into momentary lethargy; muttering to himself and appearing to forget the presence of strangers. His thoughts seemed to wander to his home, and broken utterances of "Father," " Mother" were just audible. At length, growing calmer and casting his eyes curiously about as one awakening from sleep, his gaze rested on the group by his bedside; and instantly realizing his position, the poor boy again gave way to a confused jumble of sobs and entreaties, until, exhausted by his efforts and loss of blood, he sank down, weeping, on his bed. For minutes, scarce a sound was heard in the tent save his stifled sobs and long-drawn breathing.

Then again he raised his head from his pillow, and attempted to turn over, but a darting pain caused him to cry out and fall back again. He lay looking up quietly at the top of the tent. Finally he threw an intelligent glance at the compassionate faces around him, beckoned the doctor to approach, whispered something in his ear, smiled and closed his eyes, as if he were wearied and wished to be left alone. It had been a long, hard struggle, but it was over now, and René had declared himself prepared for the sacrifice.

The amputation was performed; René had recovered from the effects of the chloroform, and had been transported from the dissecting-table to his bed there he was now smiling, chatting, free from pain, and calmly smoking a cigarette.

"Well, mon garçon, how do you feel?" asked Kent, as some of us stood around his bed.

"Ah, monsieur!" his look and gesture were more significant than words. And the leg?"

"Eh! I do not understand, monsieur."

Strangely enough, he seemed to have forgotten that any operation had taken place, and was totally unconscious that his limb was gone. It was not an uncommon occurrence, and perhaps in this case, the patient was not altogether free from the exciting influence of the narcotic administered during the amputation.

"Why," Kent replied in answer- to his look of puzzled inquiry, "your leg has been cut off; that's the reason you haven't any pain, my boy."

"Ciel!" he exclaimed in alarm, beyond manner amazed by the news, and pulling up the bed clothes, surveyed the bandaged stump with a rueful and perplexed air comical to see.

"Why, it's like a big baby," he said at last, an burst out laughing. He was happy after that discovery, and insisted on everyone having a look at his "baby."

But this was not to endure. The reaction soon came, and with it pain and suffering; yet still the young amputé was hopeful. The rosy hue of health, which he had brought with him from his country home, was still on his cheeks, and his eyes sparkled with life and promise. All that could be learned from René of his life was that he had lived near Montfort, in the department of Ile et Vilaine, Brittany, and had worked first in the wheat-fields, then as a garçon in a café in the city. His parents were poor, and expected him to earn his own living; but when the war broke out, though only eighteen, he must leave his situation and his poor father and mother, and go and fight for his Emperor, and afterward for "La République." Can you not see in the history of this boy the type of many another guileless peasant lad of France? They come marching from the sunny land of southern France --- the pleasant vintage-country---inspired with the glory of dying for "La Patrie;" the "Départ pour la Syrie" is on their lips, and the spirit of the Marseillaise in their hearts. This fair-haired, blue-eyed, soft-faced youth is one of that great band. He has spent most of his years in sowing, binding, haying, reaping ---in the rural occupations of a peaceful farm life; he has had but little, if any schooling, but can tell his beads or repeat his pater noster or follow the litany; an innocent, ignorant, mild, trusting, gentle spirit, on whom may God have mercy, for there are many such!

We have said that René was happy despite his sufferings. Yes, he certainly was. Whenever those who became interested in his case, brought him apples, oranges, or confitures, he would evince a gratitude at once lively and touching to observe. He had one simple, amusing way of expressing his thanks which I shall never forget: taking the visitor by the hand, he would gently insist on his or her sitting by his side, and still clinging to the hand, would alternately close and open his eyes, with an expression of sweet content on his face. One afternoon the Marquise de Bord came to him with some choice fruit, which she had procured especially for him.

"Je suis content de vous voir, Madame," he said with his bright smile, and it would be difficult to reproduce in English, the deep feeling of these simple words. The dark, queenly woman sat down by his side, and leaning over whispered something in his ear. What a picture! That proud, beautiful lady with her flashing eyes and superb pose and cold hauteur, leaning over the poor, pale, suffering peasant lad in the ward here. She laid the fruit on the spread. The boy only glanced at the gift, then looked up into the donor's face with a thankfulness full and instinctive. He knew with the quickness and inborn delicacy of his race that the value of the gift lay not in the fruit itself, but in the benevolent intentions of the giver. Taking her hand in his, he said simply --and there were warm tears in those large black eyes that used to flash so coldly

"Le Bon Dieu vous récompensera." The next minute, the marquise was gone. People spoke of her generally as a lady of rank and a magnificent beauty, haughty and polished and unfeeling. How poorly we judge the "mighty, brother-soul" of man and woman!

As his convalescence went on, the only thing that seemed to give René much anxiety was the thought that he would be unable to go back to his old occupation in the café. It was strange how this apprehension haunted and troubled him; and he was but partially consoled when it was explained to him that though he might be unfitted for active service of that kind, yet there were other trades to which he could apply himself, if indeed his regular pension were not sufficient of itself to support him. Need it be said that, with the concern manifested in his fate, every attention which could be given, every aid which could be derived from nature and from surgical skill, and the most delicate food and strengthening drinks, were brought to bear to secure his recovery? In truth, René picked up, day by day, eating his dinners and drinking his wines with keen zest and appetite.

One beautiful day toward the approach of Spring, when the atmosphere was unusually warm and dry, our young wounded soldier was taken out on the grounds in front of the tent. He was sinking, we could not deceive ourselves as to that fact now; the doctor had ordered him to be brought out in the fresh air to see if that would have any effect. Poor René! it was the last time he should look upon earth and sky; and thank God! that earth was smiling and beautiful. It was a mild, calm day, and the heavens were clear and fair, and the breezes warm and full of the softness of spring. The rays of the sun played about the grounds, making the white tents glisten, and brightening the faded uniforms of the convalescents. Invited by the warmth and pleasantness of the weather they had come forth, and were now basking in the sunshine or tottering about on crutches among their comrades who had recovered but were still clinging to the old home. Among their sickly faces, and bandaged and emaciated forms, were mingled gentlemen of the staff and the ladies who had come to read to or to amuse them. The flaps of the tents were thrown wide open, so as to admit the revivifying air to those who were still bed-ridden. René saw it all, and a happier fellow never lived. He loved the bright, glorious day, with God's own breezes cooling his fevered brow and parched lips, and he wanted us all to come and see how happy he was, and to grasp our hands and look into our faces. Many an one parted from his weak clasp and joyous prattle with eyes full of tears. He taught us a lesson never to be forgotten. I believe he knew he could not last long, but the thought to him was not an embittering or fearful one; with his childlike faith in a great, good Father, he was not afraid to die. He could rejoice in the beauty of this world in the very face of death. But what was it he was trying to say? He seemed to be recalling something and with strong effort; he went on muttering inaudibly a minute, and then his face brightened, and his voice grew distinct, and we could catch broken repetitions of

"O ma chère Bretagne
Que ton soleil est beau."

For a long time he lay in this state of tranquillity, with his head thrown back on the soft pillows and his eyes sometimes closed for weariness and again opened to greet a friend; but always there was the same innocent, peaceful smile on his face. The beautiful spring afternoon glided away, and the shadows of evening fell; and we carried him back to his bed out of sight of the loved earth still murmuring

"Que ton soleil est beau."

The remainder of his days on earth were days of anguish and suffering. In his moments of extreme delirium the gentle nature of the boy seemed transformed to that of a demon; he would roll restlessly from side to side, cry and moan, displace the dressings, and injure his limb, all, apparently, without experiencing the sensation of pain; his eyes would start and stare wildly, as if some terrific image rose up before his mind, his brow cover with perspiration with and become pallid, his breath come short, quick and feverish, and darting thrills of pain distort the. naturally placid face into spasmodic contortions awful to see. His moments of sanity and mental clearness were generally periods of utter prostration and exhaustion, and inevitably ended by launching the mind into its old course of disorder, not to be arrested by any opiate.

One peaceful night in the latter part of February, René lay as usual in his unconscious state, dreaming and moaning. It was about nine o'clock, and all the men were in their beds and fast asleep. A single lamp burned on the pole, and by its light we had. been watching the sleeper. The doctor had just passed through the ward, and ordered the accustomed dose of chloral to be given, shaking his head sadly in answer to our inquiries about the boy. He was breathing heavily and laboriously, and his pulse grew gradually fainter and fainter. He was very restive, and sometimes talked incoherently.

" Que ton soleil est beau." The old strain came again! At ten o'clock he expired, very quietly, and unconscious of anything about him. Let us hope it was to see the dawning of a brighter sun and a better land than his well-beloved Bretagne.

A few days afterward the following letter was received, which would lose much of its pathetic simplicity by translation, and is therefore preserved in the original.

Monsieur le Docteur,

Je m'empresse de répondre à la triste nouvelle que vous m'apprenez, en même temps vous remercier des bons soins que vous avez bien voulu donner à mon pauvre enfant, malheureusement inutile; aussi, monsieur le docteur, j'ai bien reçu votre triste lettre, et je suis, monsieur, avec reconnaissance, votre toute

Devoué Serviteur,

JEAN DELAUNAY.

ONE Sabbath morning in the middle part of February, we were gathered as usual round the breakfast table in the dining-room of the chevalier's Maison, discussing the fresh dainties recently arrived from Versailles. There was, however, a noticeable addition to our little party: Dr. Evans was with us this morning, bringing comforting news from the outer world and loving messages from anxious friends. He talked of the political state of Europe, of the position of England, and of the French armies in Germany and Switzerland, among which he had been carrying stores and clothing during the winter; but it was not till almost every other subject had been exhausted, that he at length referred to his participation in the matter of the flight of Empress Eugénie. To render his recital more intelligible, I have thought best to preface it by an account of the previous movements of the Empress compiled from a well-authenticated article in the Siége de Paris.

"On the morning of the 4th of September --- so memorable, as the day of the declaration of the Republic --- the Empress Eugénie rose at an early hour, in order to perform the urgent duties which now devolved upon her as Regent of the Empire. She had had but little sleep the night before, as, indeed, had been the case for more than a month past; for besides the anxiety natural to a good mother and wife, together with the novelty and peculiarity of her position, her rest was often broken for the purpose of announcing some important communication in regard to the war or the government. The Emperor a prisoner in Germany, the flower of the army ignominiously plucked, the Prussians advancing rapidly upon Paris, thousands deserting the city, the troops at hand mostly raw and undisciplined, Montmartre and La Vilette in an uproar, surrounded by weak and vacillating councillors, the situation of the Regent was perilous in the highest degree.

"On the morning in question she first attended service at the Grand chapel, and celebrated mass, performed since the commencement of the war four times a week in the private apartments of the palace.

After charging her confessor with numerous charitable instructions, as was her wont, she passed from the oratory into the Salle du Conseil. There, grave and anxious, were assembled the ministers of the Crown and the members of the Privy Council, deliberating upon the momentous questions in agitation.

"At half past eleven she sat down to breakfast. Some twenty-eight plates were laid; the service d'honneur was double. While presiding at the table with her usual gracefulness, despatches came, in quick succession, and from every quarter, announcing that the evidences of revolution were each minute increasing, and that every means was being used to resist and suppress the actors. Intelligence arrived, too, that an immense crowd of revolutionists were pressing on to the Place de la Concorde. Cries of 'Déchéance!' and of 'République' were heard everywhere. The police were disregarded and maltreated; bands of men paraded through the streets under the folds of the Red flag and shouting the Marseillaise. To such a height did this wild enthusiasm run that the unhappy Rochefort, liberated from prison, was borne through the city on a triumphal car, wrapped in a scarlet scarf and escorted by an immense mob. Troops had been drawn up under arms in the Cour du Carousel before the façade which faces the garden; but the orders of the Empress were that there should be no bloodshed: 'Toutes les calamités,' she nobly exclaimed, 'excepté la guerre civile,' and such had been the substance of her answers to all the despatches received that morning.

"At half past twelve the crisis arrived. The deputies of the Tiers-parti, headed by M. Daru, were admitted to the palace, and, having gone through the ceremony of introduction demanded by court etiquette---not a point of which was omitted or passed hurriedly over at any time throughout this eventful day, though the rabble were at that moment knocking at the doors of the Corps Législatif--- were received by the Empress with a sad smile. She knew too well that they had come to propose the alternative of immediate abdication.

The particulars of that interview are not known. Her Majesty merely answered their counsel by saying somewhat ironically that ---'The ministers were at the head of the government to propose measures of usefulness to France, and that if they thought abdication necessary, the abdication should be signed.' Warming as she proceeded and gaining firmness from their very look of purpose, her earnest voice could be heard now and then the door of the salon opened and shut, appealing to the timid counsellors around her and endeavoring vainly to arouse their courage and strengthen their loyalty. But even while she was speaking, word came from the Corps Législatif that the agitators were plotting openly in the Salle des Pas; and while her ministers were urging her to the step that she had a strange foreboding would give the death-blow to the hopes of her family, the clamors of the populace rose from the street and filled the Salle du Conseil. Troubled and abashed, the deputies of the Tiers-parti at length withdrew, leaving he Empress leaning against the mantel-piece, looking sad and thoughtful.

"About two o'clock, when the uproar of the multitude around the Corps Législatif was at its height and the great change was being effected in the government of the nation, the Tuilleries was the scene of a gloomy gathering. The splendid suites of apartments were thronged with Officiers de Service --- not one of whom, it is said, was absent --- several members of the Corps Diplomatique, gentlemen of the Service d'Honneur, all the Dames d'Honneur who remained, and other ladies of high rank attendant on the court --- all assembled, grave and silent, to make their last devoirs to their imperial mistress. It was a trying and impressive occasion, but the Empress bore up well till she came to take leave of the pious Clotilde, her cousin, and then it was, remarks the writer of the article, a spectacle of ' simplicité touchante.'

Meanwhile a few gallant young gentlemen of the Service d'Honneur had gathered in a knot in the corner of the salon. With a tinge of the chivalric spirit of the middle ages they were animated with the heroic resolve to accompany and protect the Regent in case she should be forced to fly. Should she be surprised by the mob, fired with enthusiasm, they had determined to die for her the glorious death which the mousquetaires died for Marie Antoinette. But, like a breath of air on a pane of glass, they appear, and as quickly disappear; wills are not performances after all.

"But the minutes were flying. While the Empress was holding an interview with the ambassadors of Austria and Italy, messengers came time and again post haste from the Corps Législatif with the news that the chamber was being invaded. M. Chevreau, who had succeeded in forcing his way through the crowd, declared that the building had been given over to the mercy of the mob. No time was to be lost; the smiling presence of Jerome David alone was sufficient to indicate the seriousness of the situation. The question finally arose, since it was deemed necessary that the Regent should depart for very life's sake, whether any one had procured a carriage or provided any other way of escape. No; nobody bad thought of that, and it was now too late. It was at this moment, however, that the Empress evinced her fortitude and promptitude in action: calling to her the various officers of the household, she gave them her last orders, and then turned to General Millinet:

"'General,' she said,' can you defend the chateau without use of arms?'

" 'Madame,' replied the old defender of the Tuilleries, 'I think not.'

" 'Then,' exclaimed the Empress, 'all is lost. We must not add civil war to our disasters.'

"And turning to those to whom she had not yet bade farewell, she offered them her hand without saying a word. As her ladies of honor thronged about her, she said to them kindly:

" 'Stay here no longer : time passes,' but still continuing to press round and kiss her hand, she gently freed herself, and, accompanied by the Prince de Metternich and Chevalier Negra, tottered to her apartments pale and trembling.

"I had ensconced myself in the embrasure of window," continues the narrator, "to conceal my emotion, when a curious spectacle presented itself to my view. Just below me was the garden of the Tuilleries. Some foot soldiers were stationed before the façade of the palace at order arms. Far in the background, nevertheless, shadowy forms seemed now and then to come out of the trunks of the trees only to fade away again. They were the envahisseurs approaching with great discretion. The sight of the troops had inspired but tolerable confidence. Little by little they became bolder. The scattered shadows became a crowd of people; the crowd of people was changed into an ocean of heads, dark, noisy, and compact. A confused clamor, drowned sometimes by the Marseillaise, rose from this dark mass, which spread slowly around the exterior circle of the private garden. I was considering how it would have been possible to stem this ocean, which had burst through its dikes, when M. de Cossat Brissac, the chamberlain of the Empress, entered the salon and said aloud:

" 'Her majesty thanks you all, and bids you retire.' There was a moment of indecision. Then the Officiers de Service approached.

" 'Our duty bids us remain here as long as the Empress remains,' said they 'Can you give us any assurance that our presence is no longer needed?'

" 'Messieurs, you have the permission of her Majesty, and I may say all is well.'

"Hands were shaken in silence, and in a few minutes all that was left of the court following were gone.

"The interview between General Millinet and the "parlementaires," the harangue of the general, his declaration that the Empress was no longer at the palace, and the promise of the crowd to be gentil, followed and need not be detailed. Meanwhile the Empress assisted by Mme. Lebreton had donned a dress of mourning and made her final preparations for departure. Unwilling to expose any of her officers to danger for her sake, she had claimed the protection of Messrs. Metternich and Negra, whose diplomatic rank rendered them secure from injury. Before leaving her room, it is said that she cast one fond look on the portraits of the Emperor and her son, and retiring to her oratory, knelt at the altar and offered up a short, simple prayer. As she rose to proceed to the Gallerie du Bord de l'Eau she was observed to show no outward signs of perturbation, but her resolution seemed firm and unshaken.

"On arriving at the doors which connect the Tuilleries with the Louvre, they were found to be closed. Closed ! This was their only way of escape. Diligently did they search for the keys, and by a fortunate chance, they were secured. The little cortége stood at last in the open air on the Place St. Germain l'Auxerrois.

"But while the Empress, Mme. Lebreton, and Chevalier Negra were awaiting the return of the Austrian ambassador, who had gone in search of a fiacre, one of those meddlesome gamins of the street, chancing to shuffle along in their vicinity, caught sight of the well known features of the Empress behind her veil. In his wonder the boy cried out

"Then would the escape of Her Majesty have been foiled had it not been for the coolness and ingenuity of the Italian diplomatist. Taking in at a glance the peril of their situation, for the place was filled with passers-by, the chevalier, forgetting for the moment his plenipotentiary dignity, but still in exercise of his powers extraordinary, answered the young gentleman's indiscreet exclamation by a vigorous kick. Then seizing him by the ear, and taking care so to tweak it as to allow the "petit bonhomme" opportunity only to struggle and groan:

" 'Aha you young blackguard, cried the pitiless chevalier,' ---you will shout Vive la Prusse, will you? I'll teach you, sirrah, to be a better patriot than that;' and dragging him away from the spot where the imperial party were just entering a carriage, he did not let go his hold nor cease his imprecations until the coachman had whipped up his horses and dashed away. The Italian had played his part well; the Empress and her companion were beyond reach before the spectators realized what had occurred before their eyes."

At this point the Doctor began his story.

"On the afternoon of the 4th, Dr. C---- and myself met at the ambulance, the tents of which were just then being pitched, and after arranging some business matters, drove together in the landau to my house, where I expected to have Dr. L---- and Mr. W----- at dinner. I left the Doctor in the carriage in front of the house, informing him I would be back immediately."

Here the speaker stopped, and requested Dr. C. to tell what next came about. Thus appealed to, Camden stroked his whiskers, blushed slightly, and, seeming to ask confirmation for every word he uttered, began.

"Well, Doctor, I hardly know what to say. I waited there in the carriage over an hour, wondering at your prolonged absence; and I was on the point of going to the house at the end of that time, when Célestine was ordered to drive inside, which he did, stopping at the portico. I then got out and entered the hall, and walked toward the Doctor's office trusting to find him there. Before I reached the door however, the Doctor appeared, and putting his finger quickly on his lips, bent forward, and whispered in my ear, ' Can you guess who is here?' and before I could answer, he whispered still lower --- 'the Empress.' With this astounding piece of intelligence, he led me into the office just opposite the parlor. The Empress and Mme. Lebreton were in the latter room."

As Dr. C. concluded, Dr. Evans took up the thread and continued

"Her Majesty consulted us in regard to the safest and quickest way of leaving Paris. While we were talking my dinner-guests, arrived, and I requested Dr. C. to apologize for my absence and perform the duties of host, while I made haste to make the Empress and Madame Lebreton as secure and comfortable as possible. After doing all I could in that direction, I rode to Paris for the purpose of ascertaining the state of popular feeling toward the refugee. Stopping at the Tuilleries, whither I had directed Célestine to drive first, I got out and walked round among the soldiers congregated there, engaging the most intelligent of them in conversation.

"From the Tuilleries I drove to several other places, and inevitably found that the general feeling was against the Empress. Later in the evening I went to two or three barriers in different quarters of the city to see if they were open or not. Returning I gave the Empress an account of my discoveries, and a long conversation ensued, in which it was finally settled that Her Majesty should remain in the house over night, and in the morning set out for the coast by carriage. I have now in my possession a little railroad time-table, which is pencilled from page to page by the Empress, who, as she turned over the leaves, apparently found each train better than the last. I value it highly as a memento of the flight.

"At twelve o'clock the dinner party dispersed, and I gave orders for some food to be warmed, and meanwhile took to the Empress myself some of the remains of the collation. Dr. C. went to Paris to see what he could discover. To prevent the possibility of discovery, I made the Empress's bed with my own hands, and placed my comb and brush on the bureau --- taking care to extract the hair--- and hunted up a couple of my wife's night-dresses.

"About one o'clock the Empress and her companion retired. Once locked in their rooms, I summoned Célestine, and reprimanded him for having admitted these two German women to the house, for he had been deceived by the Empress's accent, and taken her for a native of that country. 'It's bad enough,' I said to the man in a severe tone, 'to admit these people on week days; but to let them in on Sunday, the only day when I can get any rest, is something for which you merit dismissal. And the consequences are, I am obliged to keep them over night, for they have no place to go. Do better in the future;' and having thus disposed of him, I ordered the rest of the servants to bed, and the house being now quiet, Dr. C, who had returned from the city, and myself also lay down for a little repose.

"Next morning I was up at half past three o'clock, and calling Célestine, bade him get the carriage out as quickly as possible. About four o'clock I knocked at the door of the Empress's room. I fancied, as I stood waiting her response, that there was a striking similarity between the position of Marie Antoinette the morning of her execution and the present position of the Empress Eugenie, and I trembled to think that I might be knocking her up to the gallows. By half past four they came down stairs, and partook of a hurried meal. It was a little after five that the carriage, with the Empress, Madame, the Doctor, and myself within, left the house. 'When you come to the Porte Maillot,' I said to Célestine, 'and the officers order you to stop --- do so.' But when he comes to the window to examine my passes, whip up your horses, and then, go on.

"Arriving at the barrier, the Doctor filled up one window on one side with his head and shoulders, and I the window on the other, in such a way that both the ladies were effectually concealed from observers on either hand. As the officer approached, the horses started as if in affright, and then dashed on. So far, so good.

"Passy was our first stopping-place, then St. Germain, then Poissy, and finally Ventres (so the doctor pronounced it), where we drove into a small lane to rest the horses awhile. I left the party here, and walked to the village, a little way beyond, to find out whether any rumor of the Empress's flight had reached the place, and also, if possible, to procure another carriage and fresh team of horses. I went directly to the inn, and giving out that I had come to bring the news of the republic to the family of Count-----, whom I had attended professionally in Paris, asked for the largest and most comfortable carriage they had in the neighborhood. I finally secured an old fashioned conveyance, and jumping in, bade the driver take the nearest road to the Count's. Now I hadn't the faintest idea where the gentleman lived, and --- would you believe me ?--- the man started in n direction just opposite to where my friends lay. However, I let him drive on till we were out of the sight of the owner of the carriage, and then told him to turn round and go the other way, as I had some friends whom I wished to see before going on. A little extra pour-boire overcame his hesitation, and by farther persuasion, and promises and threats, I at length succeeded in getting the Empress and the rest in the carriage, and once again we were moving along at a smart pace."

Something occurred to interrupt the Doctor here, for the notes which I took at the time break off suddenly, and do not recommence until the party reached the coast. I can, however, recall such incidents as the Empress eating a scanty lunch out of the Doctor's beaver, sleeping in the corner of the carriage covered only by a great-coat, and their passing through villages crowded with men shouting "Vive la République" and "à bas l'Empereur." At the coast they embarked on the yacht of Sir John -----, and set out on their voyage across the channel.

"The water was very rough," continued the Doctor, "and the tide running full and strong. We cast off, however, and headed for Ryde, whither we had predetermined to go. The night was dark; we couldn't see far ahead; and the winds blew with considerable violence. The sea on was too much for our frail craft. All reckoning was lost by some mistake of Sir John's, and everyone on board, except the deck hands, was fearfully sick. Farther out on the channel the boat was spun round like a mere feather; it seemed impracticable to keep up any sail in such a sea. The men reefed and reefed, but it didn't seem to do any good, for we were shipping bucketsfull of water every minute. Sir John -------- became uncontrollably wild, and declared the yacht would inevitably swamp and they all be drowned. The Empress said calmly that she was prepared, and I buttoned my coat up for the last swim. Sir John managed to spread out his charts on the cabin table, to find, if possible, whereabouts we were, when the vessel gave a one-sided lurch, and away went charts and compasses. 'For God's sake,' he called out to the pilot, 'tell us where we are.' He was altogether hors de lui, as the French say, and cursed us for bringing him out to his death. Seeing his incapacity, I took command of the boat myself, and ordered the pilot to tack, tack, tack. Hour after hour we sailed on thus, in momentary expectation of wrecking. But after a long, long struggle, the sea abated, lights appeared ahead, and pretty soon we were alongside the wharf at Ryde.

"A pretty spectacle we must have presented. Indeed, we were literally turned off the dock for vagabonds. By dint of perseverance we finally found the hotel, and it was with great relief and satisfaction that we knocked at the door. It opened at last, and the head of a waiter was poked out cautiously, and after scanning us closely from head to foot, 'what do you want here?' said a gruff voice. We wanted rooms, of course; we were shown to the third story! It was useless to expostulate --- impossible to explain, so we took up with what we could get. The Empress's clothes --- a black silk mourning dress --was wet through, and in order not to excite suspicion, I took it down stairs to the kitchen and dried it myself before the fire. In answer to impertinent questions, I said that my wife preferred that her husband should dry her clothes.

"In the morning we took the train to Brighton, where we expected to meet the Prince Imperial, whom the Empress had not seen in several months. I learned by the papers that he was not there, but in Hastings, a place by the way, I had never heard of before; so not knowing but it might be a mere village, I determined to go and fetch the young Prince to Brighton, and bring about the meeting here. But all my planning was upset by the Empress's eagerness to see him, and I was obliged to take her to Hastings, though not at the first daring to tell her that her son was in town. As soon as possible I went to the Prince at his hotel, and was received with every demonstration of joy. He wanted to know if I could tell him of his mother, and burst into tears at the question. Yet he seemed to have a vague consciousness that I had come with some good news, and his gratitude and gladness were unbounded, when little by little, [ broke to him the fact that she was safe and unharmed, and would soon clasp him to her breast.

Returning to the Empress, I tried to quiet her apprehensions by saying that I had heard Louis was well and would soon come to her, but nothing would answer under a complete account of my morning visit; and no sooner had she learned his whereabouts than, ordering Madame Lebreton to follow, and dragging me along, she led us into the street, and jumping into the first cab that came in the way, carried us per force to the Prince's hotel. At the door of his room we were confronted by an English servant, who demanded our business, 'We want to see the Prince,' said I. ' You can't see him, sir,' was the sharp reply. 'But we must,' I went on, 'we are friends of his;' and then followed a storm of words, until thrusting the thick-beaded, obstinate boor aside, and opening a door, I led the Empress and her companion in, and then went into the Prince's room and tried to compose him for the interview. Then, when I thought he was sufficiently calm, I led him to the Empress. You may imagine what followed. When their greetings were over, the Empress took Louis by the hand, and pointing to me, said with emotion, 'There, my boy, is your mother's savior.' The warm-hearted little fellow rushed into my arms, and sobbing, thanked me over and over again."

ON the morning of the first of March, the Prussians were to enter Paris. Frank and I were delayed in our dressings in the tent, and did not get away from the ambulance until nearly nine o'clock. As soon as relieved, however, we hastened over to Col. O'Flynn's apartments in the avenue de la Grande Armée, and rushed up into the saloon in the most approved Parisian fashion. The colonel was at breakfast, but young Washburn was in the room thrumming on the piano.

He told us he had been there all the morning with his father, the Doctor, and some other gentlemen, awaiting the entry of the troops, which troops hadn't come, except the van-guard, much to the disappointment of the old gentlemen. The first to cross the draw-bridge, he said, was a queer old codger, with a slouch hat and shabbily dressed, and bestraddling a spare-ribbed nag of the Rosinante species, who, unknown and mysterious rode leisurely up the avenue, disappeared, and never turned up again to mortal eye. Then there came a detachment of six troopers, and following them, the squadron escorting General Von Kamecke to the palace of Queen Christians. He supposed these to be the advance-guard of the corps that were being reviewed this morning at the Hippodrome by Kaiser William and staff, and which, no doubt, would put in an appearance later in the day, perhaps in a half-hour or so from now. Consequently the better plan for us would be to stay and keep him company.

It was a dark, lowry morning, and as we looked from the balcony, the avenue appeared dreary and desolate. The stores and dwellings were closed and barred fast; only here and there was there a shutter thrown open, and you might be safe in presuming that those apartments were occupied by foreigners. A few doors below us the stars and stripes were hanging from a window sill. From the Arc de Triomphe to the barricade at the Porte Maillot ---each side of the avenue was thinly lined with spectators, mostly street boys and laborers. The respectable class of Parisians was snugly housed, and discountenanced demonstrations of any kind. Such a day had not been since the coup d'état of Napoleon; the whole city was in mourning, covered with sackcloth and sprinkled with ashes.

The time passed wearily. Washburn was drumming on the piano, and the sounds came to us through the open window mingled with the hum of a voluble party below on the sidewalk. The notes struck no responsive cord in the heart, but fell on the ear flatly and without harmony. Finally there was a stir around the Porte, a troop of gamins rushed across the drawbridge, and a cry of "les Prussiens" was heard. "They're coming," I said, poking my head in at the window. But it was only a few horsemen after all; they rode leisurely up the avenue, erect, broad-shouldered, impassive, with carbines and clanking sabres and glittering helmets. The gamins followed at their heels, maintaining a musical howl all the way, until they disappeared around the barrier d'Etoile.

Another long interval intervened, and then squads of six or seven men, commanded by lieutenants, began to arrive. The officers with lists in their hands, elbowed their way among the groups on the sidewalks, in quest of the houses where their troops were to be lodged. 20,000 men were to be billeted in that way.

One of these squads had seated themselves on a bench directly beneath our balcony. It was not long before they were completely hemmed in by a constantly increasing crowd of excited Frenchmen ; but they were tall, powerful, good-natured looking fellows, and appeared to be more amused than anything else at the gesticulative antics and blustering braggadocio of some of the Sans-culottes about them. We were looking down and admiring their off-hand self-possession, when a sudden movement in the throng about the Arc de Triomphe attracted our attention thither.

The next minute a middle-aged, respectable-looking man forced his way out of the mass of brown blouses, and darted rapidly down the avenue, pursued by the crowd with hue and cry. Faster and faster he sped, now springing to this side, now to that, to allude the grasp of outstretched arms pressing closer and closer. " Un Prussien un Prussien !" was the cry of the pursuers. Now we could see the despair depicted on his face; he seemed to see death on all sides. They were trying to cut him off in front; he saw it, and great God ! --- the anguish in his look. He halted, hesitated, glanced wildly on one side, and then on the other, and, for the first time apparently, caught sight of the squad sitting on the bench below our balcony. It was his last hope, and every nerve was stretched to the utmost to reach them. Unfortunate hesitation! The crowd was upon him; amid the mass of heads and the clouds of dust he was lost to view. All was confusion and clamor; the fierce shouts of the blouses, the compact mingling and glancing of figures, the tossing of arms and caps, and the dust enveloping the whole, rendered it impossible to discover anything. At length, a hat was hurled high in the air; the crowd gave way a little; the wretched victim for an instant appeared, struggling desperately in the hands of the crowd. Ha! he has wrenched off their grasps, and was free once more, flying toward the Prussian squad. Pale, breathless, bleeding, hatless, and his clothes torn and muddy, he threw himself exhausted at their feet.

Heretofore indifferent, seemingly, to the fate of the man, they now rose up, placed the fugitive on the bench, and turned to meet the pursuers. The blouses were furious; they pressed round the little guard and demanded in high, hot tones, the release of the spy, as they alleged he was. But the Teutons didn't seemed to understand at all. They were laughing quietly among themselves at the dapper little man who seemed to be the leader, and whose shrill, piping tones could be distinguished above all the rest. Galled by their cool and unconcerned attitude the crowd closed thicker and nearer. They shook their clenched hands in the Prussians' faces; now one made an eager dart at the trembling form of the offender. To these and bolder endeavors the little guard paid not the slightest heed.

Emboldened by this stony impassibility, two or three big-shouldered, brawny-armed ruffians, made a sudden, headlong dash. Backed by the tremendous weight of the crowd, they laid their very hands on the victim, and it seemed as if they could not but be successful. But that instant a low, quick word of command was heard; before the steady front that faced them the blouses quailed. The formation of a circle, the unslinging of the rifle, the ominous click of the trigger --- that was all ; in three minutes not a human being could be seen within two hundred yards. The Prussians dropped their muskets and proceeded to load them !

They are comical little fellows --- these blouses, and yet not so very comical either, when once thoroughly enraged. Now, there is Jean at the ambulance, he is an excellent type of the Parisian working-man, short of stature, broad about the shoulders, low browed, and dull of comprehension; and yet that is only a small part of Jean. He appears to be by nature, or by prolonged degradation, like the slave, fitted for manual labor only, and yet he is not, like the slave again, resigned and impassive; rather he will struggle, resist, rise, and strive to burst his bonds, like the wild Norman horse with which you sometimes see him represented on French canvass. His political creed, if a blind following of the crowd may be so called, is narrow, for he is always, on the principle of present interest and reward, an Ultra and a Red. In his own eyes, he is an humble and lowly individual, living obscurely somewhere in Belleville or the Faubourg St. Antoine, except, perhaps, in times of anarchy and the Commune, but --- poor man! --unwittingly he is the most important and troublesome personage in France to-day. Like Ginx's baby, he is the problem of charities, benevolent institutions, and the national government. "What shall we do with him?" and Prudhomme, Louis Blanc, Hugo, and the savans have been echoing the question. The bourgeoisie-respectable shopkeepers and estate-holders --- are in mortal dread of this man, and would go far to win him over to their side, if they could. Even Louis Napoleon condescended by periodical fêtes and shows to conciliate him, and his sharp-witted sister, the fisherwoman of the Halles; and did he not, say some, make Paris a great quarry in order to build another Athens, and rob the provinces to pay the workmen? Yes, this good natured blouse that is seen returning from his work in the evening with pickaxe and trowel, exerts an extraordinary influence on the government of France, despite his boorishness of manner and his lack of an Elysée education.

In ordinary times his wants are few, and those surprisingly simple : he is content to work hard and dine on his four-sous meal of a bit of bread and a dish of black beans, scarcely dreaming of meat oftener than twice a week. He is civil, ignorant, and laborious, and, above all things, keeps his proper place. But now he draws his daily one franc and fifty centimes, and rations of bread and a hundred grammes of meat for his family, if he have any; with nothing to do but strut along with a musket on his shoulder and live like a nabob off other people's money (which he never has shown the slightest reluctance to do), he is in the seventh heaven of Mahomet. Still he is brave, honest enough, and sensible when it is a question of fighting the Prussians, who, to be sure, are worse than the bourgeoisie. He would sooner, to use Jules Favre's florid figure, bury himself under the ruins of Paris, than capitulate. He is eager to march outside the enceinte and be led against the German foe, but he has no leaders, at least none whom he does not distrust. Consequently he will hoist a flag and go to the Hôtel de Ville and "manifest" for the Commune, which means everything and anything. "What shall we do with him ?"

There were no further incidents of particular note in the morning, only the artillery and the baggage trains coming in, for the entry of the troops was not to take place until the afternoon. When we left the avenue, it was blocked up most effectually from the Arc de Triomphe as far as the eye could reach westward.

The afternoon was bright and pleasant, and after partaking of a hearty dinner, we joined a group on the avenue de l'Impératrice to await the arrival, already so long delayed. There was the Marquise de Girard, who had had her easy chair wheeled out in front of the ambulance grounds, with one of her maids on one side and the big zouave of No. 4 on the other. The ancient mariner, whom the lady had now taken under her special care, lay at her feet with his crutches beside him; he was unusually flighty and caustic this afternoon, and the Marquise had fallen to bantering him in her bright, vivacious way. She had acquired an unaccountable fondness for this wild-eyed Breton, and kept him more than half the time at her own house, indulging all his whims and fancies with an almost maternal affection. As for the big zouave, he stood there with his fez thrown back in jaunty military fashion, exposing a broad, sun-burned, good-humored countenance, calmly smoking his cigarette, and casting sheep's eyes at the rosy-checked maid.

"Will petit Guillaume come in on a chariot?" asked the maid.

"Non," said the mariner, "only on a pumpkin."

"I do not believe he will come at all, petit," the Marquise said.

"May I ask why you believe so?" asked the zouave, addressing the lady, but glancing aslant at the maid.

"Oh, he's afraid."

"No, it's not that," decided the mariner snappishly.

"Well, what then?"

"Why he's gone to embrace his dear brother, Badinguet, and write a letter home to Madame l'Impératrice."

This sally was received by the Marquise with a burst of laughter. The mariner replied only by producing his handkerchief; and blowing his nose with trumpet-like effect.

"Pardon him, madame," explained the big zouave seriously, "he comes from Finisterre." It seems that in other parts of Brittany the use of a handkerchief for this most necessary operation is considered a piece of luxurious affectation.

"Hist! I hear music somewhere," said the Marquise.

"'Twasn't the low sound of a trumpet, was it, Madame ?" asked the zouave, removing his cigarette to give utterance to a hoarse guffaw at his own humor.

He was rewarded with a saucy smile from the maid, and then we all stopped to listen. A faint strain of music, now rising and again sinking fitfully, was borne to us on the wind that blew lightly from the west. Louder and louder rose the strains, until the different melodies could be readily distinguished, and no doubt remained of their coming from the brass bands of Germany. Soon the head of the column appeared, away down the avenue, near the Bois, and took of its line of march in the direction of the Arc de Triomphe and the Champs Elysées.

First came the Bavarians, short, sturdy, stolid-looking men, who having borne the brunt of war, now were honored by holding the van, the post of honor in the entry. Hartman's 2d, who had fought so bravely in the bloodiest battles of the campaign, were particularly noticeable for their hardy and veteran-like appearance. Regiment after regiment with now and then a superb brass-band, marched by, and everywhere the same admirable order was preserved and the same strict discipline evinced. Perhaps the only breach of regulations was an act of genuine good will and compassion on the part of the soldiers in passing by our position, several of them threw cigars at the feet of the big zouave. He had stretched out his huge limbs on the sward for greater ease and comfort to his wounded leg, but was upon his feet in a twinkle, cursing and raging like a madman; he stamped on the conciliative offerings with a fiendish satisfaction, and shook his clenched fists at the wondering donors.

Strange! the ways in which this people express their likes and dislikes. A crowd is gathered at the barricade in the avenue de l'Impératrice looking toward the Fort Mont Valerien, as it looms up stern and awful some fine afternoon with all its bristling batteries at work. "I wish," exclaims a bright-eyed young lady of strong patriotic tendencies, all her enthusiastic admiration expressing itself in impossible longing, "Oh how I wish you were here that I might kiss you!" "Let me carry the kiss for you," replies a quick witted zouave, and they embrace amid the cheers of the crowd. On the other hand, their aversions are equally intense. Hatred of priests and priesthood, for instance, takes a peculiarly violent and blasphemous turn. At the Salle Favié an excited orator, utterly unable to find sufficient expression for his deep and bitter feeling, wants "to mount up into the heavens, like the Titans, and plunge his poignard in this miserable God of the priests" (poignarder ce miserable Dieu des prêtres) awful blasphemy against High God and how received? "Want a balloon for that," retorts a wit, and with a hollow laugh the dreadful mockery is passed around. Contrast with this the grand outburst of Thackeray in reference to Henri Heine's frightful words, " Dieu qui se meurt."

Before the zouave had well regained his equanimity, the long blue line of Bavarians had passed, and the Prussian Guards arrived. Tall, intelligent, noble looking fellows, their array, with its rows of brazen helmets and gleaming barrels and shining equipments, was remarkably fine. The Marquise's eyes glowed admiringly; she could hardly forbear, much as she detested the Germans in general, showing her admiration of the magnificence of their physique and the precision of their marching. Even the ancient mariner gave utterance to a grunt of approbation, and watched the Schutzen and the Jagers, as they passed in turn, with a sharp and understanding eye, repeating soto voce at the same time, "Tarteifle !"---"tarteifle !"

Then came the Leib regiment, the flower of the army, and which corresponds to the Queen's Guard in Great Britain. Every man is selected for his height of stature and strength of build, as was the case in the similar organization of Frederick the Great, and taken altogether, perhaps a finer body of men could nowhere else be found. They had just come from the review at the Hippodrome, and were sprinkled with dust, but it in no wise marred the splendor and perfection of their line and manoeuvres.

They marched with the nicest exactness, and with a long step. The Germans are in general more powerful men than the French, and the actual weight they carry less, so that they are able to outstrip them in route-marching. It is notable that at one period of the war the French army under MacMahon only covered a daily length of ten miles, while the German army under the Crown Prince accomplished, in the same portion of the country and in the same time, a distance of over twenty miles. Not one of the marches of the Prussian army during this war, however, can compare with the marches of the French under the First Napoleon. They were still passing, battalion after battalion, when our attention was attracted by a horseman pulling up by the side of the big zouave, who had dragged himself to quite a distance from us to get a better view of the troops.

We had observed the horseman in question riding down the avenue at a break-neck speed toward the Porte Dauphine, and thought nothing of it until he reined up his steed before the zouave. He was in civilian attire, and looked like some plain, insignificant man, who had come in with the army on business ---perhaps a reporter. He leant from the saddle, and spoke to the zouave, evidently, from his gesture, asking about his wound. Whatever the tenor of his enquiries, they met but with an ill requital of abuse and insult. "Curses on you curses on you, Prussien !" we heard amid a fearful storm of execration.

"It's Bismarck," said Kent, looking keenly at the rider's face, " as I live, it's Bismarck."

"Bismarck! ---bah!" and the mariner spit out the word with a comical expression of disgust.

"Bismarck!" echoed the Marquise, with a slight scream, and then with a shrug of the fair shoulders and a glance of contemptuous disdain, "oh le coquin sinistre!"

In another minute the great diplomat was off on a canter, and before long disappeared altogether.

Before the excitement occasioned by this little episode was over detachments of cavalry had begun to arrive. Mounted dragoons with clanking sabres, and huzzars with high-crowned hats and plumes, rode by in close ranks; cuirassiers resplendent in helmets and silver breast-plates followed; then there were the Uhlans, who, with their long lances and fleet coursers used to prowl about the outposts of the French, and when given chase to, disappear suddenly, like the dusky Bedouins of the desert; and the heavy-armed dragoons, alongside of whom the Uhlans looked like mere fancy warriors; and finally the rumbling artillery, and the engineers of the Guard, bringing up the rear.

The chains about the Arc de Triomphe had been removed, and the whole army passed underneath. Above on either side were inscribed the names of Jena, Auerstadt, Wagram, and many another victorious battle of the first Napoleon over the states of Germany; but when the shadow of the great monument, erected on the very graves of their vanquished fathers, fell upon them, it seemed as if the rankling memories that those records were fitted to arouse were all swallowed up in the overflowing sensation of present triumph. Cheer after cheer rose from the van, and was echoed down the line; the bands clashed in higher strains; the soldiers marched with a lighter and prouder step. It was a moment of great joy, and pride, and exultation. Their mission was accomplished, their labors for the time ended, and they would soon return to their Fatherland, and receive the meed of victory.