interspersed with badinage and chaff. There was Peyrouton, for instance, one of the chiefs of the revolutionary party, a tall, thin, nervous, pigeon-breasted young man, whose appearance in the trenches was thus caricatured by one of his comrades:-" Peyrouton, crouching with his finger on the trigger of his rifle, looked like a chassepot at the end of a sardine, or a sardine at the end of a chassepot." Commandant Cournet, who sat opposite, was called upon, amidst much laughter, to corroborate the fact. The picturesque medley of uniforms, with the play of light Parisian banter, was at times suggestive of a scene at a fancy-ball, or of some heroic military drama in process of rehearsal for the stage boards of the Châtelet. After all, what is the siege itself but a solemn military pageant of which Parisians are the victims and the dupes? As for poor G-, he remained inconsolable in his corner, deploring "the fatal mistake committed by Flourens on the 31st October, when he urged the members of the Government to resign, instead of sending them off at once to the prison of Mazas. Flourens spoilt everything on that occasion by his mania for parading." "And your friend Blanqui," I asked, "what did he do?" "Dear old Blanqui! He simply walked into the next room, took a seat and was hard at work, while the others were speechifying."

Near the Madeleine I learn that Chanzy and Faidherbe have been victorious; so says at least Jules Favre, though he does not vouch "officially" for the fact; but he repeats it to the Council of Mayors, whose opposition is becoming dangerous for his Government. New Year's Day.-A day of bonbons, rocking-horses, pop-guns, sausages, rat-patties, outlandish gifts of all descriptions with which we endeavoured to keep up the illusion of the Jour de l'An. The Government contributes its share to the general fund of gaiety (?)

three ounces and a half of preserved meat, a handful of coffee-grains unparched, a few dried kidney-beans, a pound of broken rice, with a cake of chocolate. Enjoy your Jour de l'An, Parisians, and fatten yourselves up for the Krupp of Chatillon.

CHAPTER X.

BOMBARDMENT.

Thursday, 5th January, 1871.—The last few nights have been disturbed by cannonading in the direction of the south, and ominous explosions on the slope of Chatillon. This morning at sunrise, the great concert has begun, and the din and roar of cannon is simply deafening. I went out in the afternoon to see what I could. On most countenances I noticed a vague expression of anxiety-less clatter of conversation than usual amongst the groups. At Rue de Vanves, near Vaugirard, a few symptoms of panic were perceptible. I met a knot of Guardsmen hurrying down the street, who shouted to me that "the bombardment had begun." I was rather surprised, and asked them if it was not the cannon of the forts

we heard. "You'll soon find out your mistake," cries one, "if you go any further. 'Tis the famous Krupp gun at work, and I have just seen an old woman's head blown off by a shell at the Vanves

Gate." I walked up the street as far as the rampart, and found a crowd of some two or three thousand persons on the embankment of the Versailles Railway. They had come out to see, and saw nothing; but ran to and fro, climbed over walls and gardenfences, scrambled up the slope of the embankment, laughed, quarrelled and enjoyed themselves, tumbled in their efforts to out-climb each other, abused the sentries who warned them off the bastions in fact, behaved like a crowd of holiday-makers at the Crystal Palace. I soon got tired of remaining with them, and asked for a ticket at the Vanves Station for Auteuil; but was told that the trains were stopped on that part of the line, "because the Prussians fired on them." I made my way on foot through the district of Vaugirard, keeping close under the embankment of the Chemin-de-Fer de Ceinture, or Paris "Metropolitan," for the sake of shelter. At last I reached the Auteuil Viaduct, but-so dense was the crowdI could hardly get a glimpse of the Prussian batteries on the terrace of Meudon. The wind had shifted to the south-west, and rolled down upon us from the hills clouds of fog and cannon-smoke, through which flashed at every second the lurid light of the Krupps. The rampart, some fifty paces in front of us, was completely deserted. Its heavy naval guns were ready primed, pointing in the direction of Meudon,

and every now and then a gunner would run along the bastions to discharge his piece. This did not seem, however, to draw the fire of the Prussian batteries, which, as far as I could make out, were concentrating their efforts on the fort of Issy, though at times they sent a few shells on the Point du Jour, one of which carried away the front of a wine-shop on the Route de Versailles, and smashed the thigh of a workman. He was carried past on a stretcher, but our sight-seers were not to be intimidated; and they crowded round each gap in the viaduct with unabated curiosity. A violent hailstorm compelled us at last to retreat, and partially extinguished the cannonade. I turned homewards, not quite sure whether I have witnessed a bombardment, but people say "the bombardment has begun." However, I shall find out all about it in the evening papers. Friday Morning, 6th January.-Yes, it is "the bombardment." An hour ago, while I was in bed, I heard a loud crash at the back of our house and the sudden rush of a crowd gathering together close under my windows. A carter was loudly cursing his horse. Said I to myself, "This must be an obus." Presently I heard a whizz, but no explosion ensued. Our English maid came rushing upstairs from the baker's, and the first words she addressed to my mother were, "Please, ma'am, I've seen the first