the
finest trees, and set the wood on fire at several points. There were
about three thousand of the Guards then encamped in the wood, and I
should think about ten thousand Prussians. Our camp was not remarkable
for its courtesy towards them; in fact, our intercourse was confined to
the most ordinary demands of duty, as allies in an enemy's country.

I believe I was one of the first of the British army who penetrated
into the heart of Paris after Waterloo. I entered by the Porte
Maillot, and passed the Arc de Triomphe, which was then building. In
those days the Champs Elysees only contained a few scattered houses,
and the roads and pathways were ancle deep in mud. The only attempt at
lighting was the suspension of a few lamps on cords, which crossed the
roads. Here I found the Scotch regiments bivouacking; their peculiar
uniform created a considerable sensation amongst the Parisian women,
who did not hesitate to declare that the want of culottes was most
indecent. I passed through the camp, and proceeded on towards the
gardens of the Tuilleries. This ancient palace of the Kings of France
presented, so far as the old front is concerned, the same aspect that
it does at the present day; but there were then no flower-gardens,
although the same stately rows of trees which now ornament the grounds
were then in their midsummer verdure.

Being in uniform, I created an immense amount of curiosity amongst the
Parisians; who, by the way, I fancied regarded me with no loving looks.
The first house I entered was a cafe in the garden of the Tuilleries,
called Legac's. I there met a man who told me he was by descent an
Englishman; though he had been born in Paris, and had really never
quitted France. He approached me, saying, "Sir, I am delighted to see
an English officer in Paris, and you are the first I have yet met
with." He talked about the battle of Waterloo, and gave me some useful
directions concerning restaurants and cafes. Along the Boulevards were
handsome houses, isolated, with gardens interspersed, and the roads
were bordered on both sides with stately, spreading trees, some of them
probably a hundred years old. There was but an imperfect pavement, the
stepping-stones of which were adapted to display the Parisian female
ankle and boot in all their calculated coquetry; and the road showed
nothing but mother earth, in the middle of which a dirty gutter served
to convey the impurities of the city to the river. Th