s in some sequestered corner. As for night work,
nothing short of the indomitable fortitude of a Parisian could sustain
it; the tents made expressly not to be waterproof, like the groves of
the Muses,

"' per
Quos et aquea subeant et aurae.'

A fellow-companion of mine tucks himself up on my rug, and pillows his
head on my knapsack. I remonstrate--he swears--the other heroes wake
up and threaten to thrash us both; and just when peace is made, and one
hopes for a wink of sleep, a detachment of spectators, chiefly gamins,
coming to see that all is safe in the camp, strike up the Marseillaise.
Ah, the world will ring to the end of time with the sublime attitude of
Paris in the face of the Vandal invaders, especially when it learns that
the very shoes we stand in are made of cardboard. In vain we complain.
The contractor for shoes is a staunch Republican, and jobs by right
divine. May I ask if you have dined yet?"

"Heavens! no, it is too early. But I am excessively hungry. I had only
a quarter of jugged cat for breakfast, and the brute was tough. In reply
to your question, may I put another--Did you lay in plenty of stores?"

"Stores? no; I am a bachelor, and rely on the stores of my married
friends."

"Poor De Breze! I sympathise with you, for I am in the same boat, and
dinner invitations have become monstrous rare."

"Oh, but you are so confoundedly rich! What to you are forty francs for
a rabbit, or eighty francs for a turkey?"

"Well, I suppose I am rich, but I have no money, and the ungrateful
restaurants will not give me credit. They don't believe in better days."

"How can you want money?"

"Very naturally. I had invested my capital famously-the best
speculations--partly in house rents, partly in company shares; and
houses pay no rents, and nobody will buy company shares. I had 1,000
napoleons on hand, it is true, when Duplessis left Paris--much more, I
thought, than I could possibly need, for I never believed in the siege.
But during the first few weeks I played at whist with bad luck, and
since then so many old friends have borrowed of me that I doubt if I
have 200 francs left. I have despatched four letters to Duplessis by
pigeon and balloon, entreating him to send me 25,000 francs by some
trusty fellow who will pierce the Prussian lines. I have had two
answers: 1st, that he will find a man; 2nd, that the man is found and
on his way. Trust to that man, my dear friend, an