The French army at that time possessed many such spirits. Raised from the dregs of the people during the anarchy which followed the Revolution, many of the actors in those frightful tragedies and massacres that disgrace the nation became—rather by the force of circumstances than their own deserts—commanders in the armies of Buonaparte. Savage and black-hearted, furious and sour republicans, thus found themselves marching beneath the banners of an emperor; and some of them obtaining honours in that profession which numbers all the kings and princes of Europe among its members. But the true Parisian rabble, without one spark of the generous spirit of the soldier, were destitute of that chivalry which distinguished the old French armies in the time of the Bourbons. A knowledge of the men they fought against, caused our troops to regard the soldiers of the Revolution with equal detestation and contempt: this latter feeling, however, soon became changed when they encountered them as the army of Napoleon; who restored France to that honourable place among the kingdoms of Europe, from which she fell in 1792. The sanguinary rabble who hailed with yells of triumph the axe as it descended on the neck of the queenly Marie Antoinette—who clove in two the head of the beautiful Princess Lamballe, and dragged her naked body for days about the kennels of Paris, were forgotten when contemplating the glories of Napoleon, the long succession of his victories, the devotion of his soldiers, and the chivalric enthusiasm of the old guard. But to proceed. De Bourmont looked over Macleod’s letter in various ways, but could make nothing of it; upon which he asked me to translate it. So far as I can remember, it ran thus:— "_Trenches before Crotona, July_ 1806. "SIR,—Further resistance on your part being now in vain, I give you until sunset to send away all the women and children; after which, if the citadel be not surrendered, your garrison shall be buried in its ruins. "I have the honour to be, &c. &c, "PETER MACLEOD, Lieut.-Col. "Commanding Ross-shire Buffs. "Lieut.-Col. DE BOURMONT, "Knt. Grand Cross of the Iron Crown, "and Commandant of Crotona." "Sur ma vie!" said the little colonel, reddening with indignation, and turning up his eyes on hearing this blunt message. "Poof! what say you to this, Pepe, my boy?" "Guerre à mort!" growled the polite Captain Pepe. "Bedieu! I would slit the bearer’s nose, and send him back to the writer, as a fitting answer. Or what think you to summon a file of the guard and cry _à la lanterne_, as of old? Mille bombes! I have served many an English prisoner so in Holland: but that was in the days of Robespierre." "Halt! silence, monsieur!" said Bourmont, angrily; "remember that you are among the soldiers of Napoleon the First, not the rabble of the Fauxbourgs of Paris." The captain bit his nether lip and again retired to the window, while the colonel continued:—