ed to consider that heroism was a necessary consequence of the
enunciation of advanced political opinions. My object in writing was to
present a practical rather than a sentimental view of events, and to
recount things as they were, not as I wished them to be, or as the
Parisians, with perhaps excusable patriotism, wished them to appear.

For the sake of my publishers, I trust that the book will find favour
with the public. For the last three hours I have been correcting the
proofs of my prose, and it struck me that letters written to be
inserted in separate numbers of a daily paper, when published in a
collected form, are somewhat heavy reading. I feel, indeed, just at
present, much like a person who has obtained money under false
pretences, but whose remorse is not sufficiently strong to induce him to
return it.

DIARY
OF THE
BESIEGED RESIDENT IN PARIS.

CHAPTER I.

PARIS, _September 18th._

No one walking on the Champs Elysees or on the Boulevards to-day would
suppose that 300,000 Prussians are within a few miles of the city, and
intend to besiege it. Happy, said Laurence Sterne, in his "Sentimental
Journey," the nation which can once a week forget its cares. The French
have not changed since then. To-day is a fete day, and as a fete day it
must be kept. Every one seems to have forgotten the existence of the
Prussians. The Cafes are crowded by a gay crowd. On the Boulevard,
Monsieur and Madame walk quietly along with their children. In the
Champs Elysees honest mechanics and bourgeois are basking in the sun,
and nurserymaids are flirting with soldiers. There is even a lull in the
universal drilling. The regiments of Nationaux and Mobiles carry large
branches of trees stuck into the ends of their muskets. Round the statue
of Strasburg there is the usual crowd, and speculators are driving a
brisk trade in portraits of General Uhrich. "Here, citizens," cries one,
"is the portrait of the heroic defender of Strasburg, only one sou--it
cost me two--I only wish that I were rich enough to give it away."
"Listen, citizens," cries another, "whilst I declaim the poem of a lady
who has escaped from Strasburg. To those who, after hearing it, may wish
to read it to their families, I will give it as a favour for two sous."
I only saw one disturbance. As I passed by the Rond Point, a very tall
woman was mobbed, because it was thought that she might be a Uhlan in
disguise. But it was regarded more as a joke than