e differences cause great dissatisfaction.
The feeling to-day seems to be that if Trochu wishes to avoid riots, he
must make a sortie very shortly.

The _Gaulois_ says:--

"How sad has been our New Year's-day! Among ourselves we may own it,
although we have bravely supported it, like men of sense, determined to
hold good against bad fortune, and to laugh in the face of misery. It is
hard not to have had the baby brought to our bedside in the morning; not
to have seen him clap his hands with pleasure on receiving some toy; not
to have pressed the hands of those we love best, and not to have
embraced them and been able to say--'The year which has passed has had
its joys and its sorrows, sun and shadow--but what matters it? We have
shared them together. The year which is commencing cannot bring with it
any sorrows that by remaining united we shall not be able to support?'
Most of us breakfasted this morning--the New Year's breakfast, usually
so gay--alone and solitary; a few smoky logs our only companions. There
are sorrows which no philosophy can console. On other days one may
forget them, but on New Year's-day our isolation comes home to us, and,
do what we may, we are sad and silent. Where are they now? What are they
doing now? is the thought which rises in every breast. The father's
thoughts are with his children; he dimly sees before him their rosy
faces, and their mother who is dressing them. How weary, too, must the
long days be for her, separated from her husband. Last year she had
taught the baby to repeat a fable, and she brought him all trembling to
recite it to the father. She, too, trembles like a child. She follows
him with her looks, she whispers to him a word when he hesitates, but so
low that he reads it on her lips, and the father hears nothing. Poor
man! Sorry indeed he would have been to have had it supposed that he had
perceived the mother's trick. He was himself trembling, too, lest the
child should not know his lesson. What a disappointment it would have
been to the mother! For a fortnight before she had taken baby every
night on her knees and said, 'Now begin your fable.' She had taught it
him verse by verse with the patience of an angel, and she had encouraged
him to learn it with many a sugarplum. 'He is beginning to know his
fable,' she said a hundred times to her husband. 'Really,' he answered,
with an air of doubt. The honest fellow was as interested in it as his
wife, and he only appeared to