forego a change of shirt. However, I commend my
laundress to the Mayor of the Ninth Arrondissement."

And I signed my name. The Mayor gave her the coal.

January 8.--Camille Pelletan brought us good news from the Government.
Rouen and Dijon retaken, Garibaldi victorious at Nuits, and Fraidherbe
at Bapaume. All goes well.

We had brown bread, now we have black bread. Everybody fares alike. It
is well.

The news of yesterday was brought by two pigeons.

A shell killed five children in a school in the Rue de Vaugirard.

The performances and readings of _Les Chatiments_ have had to be
stopped, the theatres being without gas or coal, therefore without light
or heat.

Prim is dead. He was shot and killed at Madrid the day the king after
his own heart, Amedeus, Duke of Genoa, entered Spain.

The bombardment was a furious one to-day. A shell crashed through the
chapel of the Virgin at Saint Sulpice, where my mother's funeral took
place and where I was married.

January 10.--Bombs on the Odeon Theatre.

Chifflard sent me a piece of a shell. This shell, which fell at Auteuil,
is marked with an "H." I will have an inkstand made out of it.

January 12.--The Pavilion de Rohan demands of me from to-day on 8 francs
a head for dinner, which with wine, coffee, fire, etc., brings the cost
of dinner up to 13 francs for each person.

We had elephant steak for luncheon to-day.

Schoelcher, Rochefort, Blum and all the usual Thursday guests dined with
us. After dinner Louis Blanc and Pelletan dropped in.

January 13.--An egg costs 2 francs 75 centimes. Elephant meat costs 40
francs a pound. A sack of onions costs 800 francs.

The Societe des Gens de Lettres asked me to attend the presentation of
the cannon to the city at the Hotel de Ville. I begged to be excused. I
will not go.

We spent the day looking for another hotel. Could not find one
suitable. All are closed. Expenses for the week at the Pavilion de Rohan
(including the cost of a broken window-pane), 701 francs 50 centimes.

Remark by a poor woman anent some newly felled wood:

"This hapless green wood is under fire; it didn't expect that it would
have to face it, and weeps all the time!"

January 15.--A furious bombardment is in progress.

I have written a piece of poetry entitled "Dans le Cirque." After dinner
I read it to my Sunday guests. They want me to publish it. I will give
it to the newspapers.

January 17.--The bombardment h