ng an
Englishman, I cannot see that it would be worse than to bombard London.
The newspapers of this morning contain a _precis_ of a letter from "our
Fritz" to William "the mystic drunkard." Our Fritz writes to his papa to
say that he ought to have accepted peace when it was proffered by Jules
Favre. How the contents of the letter are known in Paris is not stated.
But here we know everything. We know that at a council of war held two
days ago at Versailles a majority declared that it was impossible to
take Paris. We know that the German soldiers are dying of starvation and
clothed in rags. We know that they are forced by their officers, against
their will, to attack their French brothers. Did not yesterday a
National Guard himself take five Prussian prisoners? They were starving,
and thankfully accepted a piece of bread. They had a wounded companion
in a wheelbarrow, who continually shook his fist in the direction of the
"mystic drunkard," and plaintively moaned forth the only French word he
knew, "Miserable, miserable!" Did not another National Guard go into a
house recently occupied by "Bavarians," and find the following words
written on a shutter--"Poor Frenchmen, we love you: they force us to
fight against you?" I believe all this, and many other strange facts,
because I see them in print in the newspapers. Can it possibly be that I
am over-credulous? Am I wrong, too, in believing that France is rising
_en masse_, that Moltke did not understand his business in advancing on
Paris, and that he will be crushed by the armies of the Loire and a
dozen other places--if, indeed, our gallant heroes congregated in Paris
give their brethren outside time to share in the triumph of defeating
him? _En attendant_, we eat, drink, and are reasonably merry; our
defenders mount guard, and drill when they are off guard. Our wary
Mobiles outside not only refuse to allow Prussians to pass, but such is
their vigilance, they generally arrest officers of any regiment except
their own who come within their ken. These worthy fellows will, I
believe, fight with bravery. The working men, too, are engaged in
heaping up barricades, and are ready to allow themselves to be killed
and their landlords' houses to be blown up rather than surrender. The
sailors in the forts are prepared to hold them like ships against all
comers. The "infantry of the marine" is commanded by an old tar who
stands no nonsense. A few days ago he published an order complainin