iotic and bacchic songs, loose and indecent choruses--in a
word, the picturesque exhibition of all that arsenal of gaiety and
courage which is the appanage of an ancient Gallic race. The old
troopers, who pretend to govern us by the sword, do not approve of this
joyous mode of regarding death; and all the writers whose pens are
dipped in the ink of reaction and Jesuitism are eager to discover any
eccentricity in which soldiers who are going under fire for the first
time permit themselves to indulge. The Intendance, with that
intelligence which characterises our military administrations, had put
off the departure of the battalion for several hours. What were the men
to do whilst they were kept waiting, except drink? This is what these
brave fellows did. Mars, tired of Venus, sung at the companionship of
Bacchus. If the God of Wine too well seconded the God of War, it is only
water drinkers who can complain; it is not for us, Republicans of the
past and of the future, to throw stones at good citizens in order to
conceal the misconduct of the old Bonapartist Administration which still
is charged with the care of our armies."

General Blaise has been killed at Villa Evrard. The buildings, which go
by this name, were occupied on Wednesday by General Vinoy's troops. In
the night a number of Prussians, who had concealed themselves in the
cellars, emerged, and a hand-to-hand fight took place. Some of the
Prussians in the confusion got away, and some were killed. Several
French officers who ran away and rushed in a panic into the presence of
General Vinoy, who was at Fort Rosney, announcing that all was lost, are
to be tried by Court Martial. The troops when they heard this were very
indignant; but old Vinoy rode along the line, and told them that they
might think what they pleased, but that he would have no cowards serving
under him. Pity that he is not General-in-Chief.

A curious new industry has sprung up in Paris. Letters supposed to be
found in the pockets of dead Germans are in great request. There are
letters from mothers, from sisters, and from the Gretchens who are, in
the popular mind, supposed to adore warriors. Unless every corpse has
half a dozen mothers, and was loved when in the flesh by a dozen
sweethearts, many of these letters must be fabricated. They vary in
their style very little. The German mothers give little domestic details
about the life at home, and express the greatest dread lest their sons
should f