r own Civil War; thousands of those boys were never
to return.

Reaching Paris we found an atmosphere of depression. A week or two
before the streets had resounded with the _Marseillaise_ and
echoed with the fierce cry, "A Berlin! A Berlin!" That confidence had
all passed, I heard the _Marseillaise_ sung only once, and
that in disheartened perfunctory fashion, perhaps by order of the
authorities in a futile attempt to stimulate courage that was waning.
Rage and mortification over the fast-accumulating German successes
possessed the hearts of men. In the squares companies of civilians
were industriously drilling, often in the public places men wearing
hospital badges extended salvers to the passers-by asking for
contributions, "Pour les blesses, monsieur, pour les blesses!" Now and
then well-disciplined divisions crossed the Place de la Concorde,
the regiments stacking arms for a brief halt. I studied them close at
hand; these at least looked as might have looked the soldiers of the
First Empire, strong and resolute, with an evident capacity for taking
care of themselves even in the small matter of cooking their soup, and
providing for their needs there on the asphalt. Their officers were
soldierly figures on horseback, dressed for rough work, and the
gaitered legs, with the stout shoes below dusty already from long
marching, were plainly capable of much more. There was a pathos about
it all, however, a marked absence of _elan_ and enthusiasm, the
faces under the _kepis_ were firm and strong enough but they had
little hope. Nothing so paralyses a soldier as want of confidence in
the leadership and these poor fellows had lost that. The regiments
passed on in turn, the sunlight glittering on their arms. Through the
vista of the boulevard the eagles of the Second Empire rose above,
the grave colonels were conspicuous at the head, and the drum-beats,
choked by the towering buildings, sounded a melancholy muffled march
that was befitting. It was the scene pictured by Detaille in _Le
Regiment qui Passe_. Could he have been with us on the curbstone
making his studies? It was indeed for them a funeral march, for they
were on they way to Sedan. The Prussians, it was said, were within
four days' march of the city, and the barrier at Metz had been
completely broken down.

In most minds Paris is associated with gayety, my Paris, on the other
hand, is a solemn spot darkened by an impending shadow of calamity.
The theatres were clo