s, and the men muttered "farceur." The war
which is now raging has produced many oddities, but none to my mind
equal to this bishop. His great object is to see and be seen, and most
thoroughly does he succeed in his object. He is a short, stout man,
dressed in a cassock, a pair of jack-boots with large spurs, and a hat
such as you would only see at the opera. On his breast he wears a huge
star. Round his neck is a chain, with a great golden cross attached to
it; and on his fingers, over his gloves, he wears gorgeous rings. The
trappings of his horse are thickly sprinkled with Geneva crosses. By his
side rides a standard-bearer, bearing aloft a flag with a red cross.
Eight aides-de-camp, arrayed in a sort of purple and gold fancy uniform,
follow him, and the _cortege_ is closed by two grooms in unimpeachable
tops. In this guise, and followed by this etat major, he is a
conspicuous figure upon a field of battle, and produces much the same
effect as the head of a circus riding into a town on a piebald horse,
surrounded by clowns and pets of the ballet. He was the confessor of the
Empress, and is now the aumonier of the Press; but why he wears
jack-boots, why he capers about on a fiery horse, why he has a staff of
aides-de-camp, and why he has two grooms, are things which no one seems
to know. He patronises generals and admirals, doctors and commissariat
officers, and they submit to be patronised by him. Half-priest,
half-buffoon, something of a Friar Tuck and something of a Louis XV.
abbe, he is a sort of privileged person, who by the mere force of
impudence has made his way in the world. Most English girls in their
teens fall in love with a curate and a cavalry officer. Monseigneur
Bauer, who combines in himself the unctuous curate and the dashing
dragoon, is adored by the fair sex in Paris. He knows how to adapt his
conversation to the most opposite kind of persons, and I should not be
surprised if he becomes a Cardinal before he dies.

The arrival of Dr. Ricord was the next event. He was in a basket
pony-chaise, driving two ponies not much larger than rats. A pole about
twelve feet high, bearing the flag of the Geneva Cross, was stuck beside
him, and it was knocking against the telegraph wires which ran along the
street. The eminent surgeon was arrayed in a long coat buttoned up to
his chin and coming down to his feet. On his head was a kepi which was
far too large for him. He looked like one of those wooden figures of