bmit to the dismemberment
of their country; and because I prefer a Republic to a Monarchy where a
King reigns by right divine. But when I read the bombastic articles in
the newspapers--when I see the insane conceit and the utter ignorance of
those with whom I am thrown--when I find them really believing that they
are heroes because they are going, they say, to win battles, it is
difficult to entertain any great sympathy for them. How utterly must
poor old Badinguet, before whom they cringed for years--who used them,
bought them, and made his market out of their vanity, their ignorance,
and their love of theatrical claptrap, despise them, as he dreams again
through life's dream in the gardens of his German prison. They call him
now a "sinister scoundrel" and a "lugubrious stage player." But he was
their master for many a long year, and they owe their emancipation from
his yoke to Prussian arms and not to themselves.

A committee of "subsistence" has been established. The feud between the
butchers and the public still continues, and most of the meat stalls are
closed. The grocers, too, are charging absurd prices for their goods.
_La Liberte_ suggests that their clients should do themselves justice,
and one of these mornings, unless these gentry abate their prices, some
grocer will be found hanging before his door. Although provisions are
plentiful, the misery is very great. Beggars increase in number every
day--they are like one of the plagues of Egypt. I was taking a cup of
coffee this morning before a cafe, and I counted twenty-three beggars
who asked me for money whilst I was sitting there. We still derive much
comfort from caricaturing Badinguet, William, and Bismarck. The latest
effort represents Badinguet and William as Robert Macaire and Bertrand.
Another represents Badinguet eating an eagle. "Coquin," says William,
"what are you doing with your eagle?" "Eating it," replies Badinguet;
"what else can I do with it?" Little statuettes, too, of the "two
friends," Badinguet and William, are in great request. William, with an
immense moustache, scowls at Badinguet, who humbly kneels before him.

M. Jules Favre, in reply to the English press deputation, sent last
night to say that each correspondent must make a personal application to
General Trochu. I know what that means already. All I ask is that my
letters should be put up in a balloon. As for passes, I have one
already, and it has not been of the slightest service to