inhabitant of London. He shook me by the hand; his friend shook me by the hand; and several ladies and gentlemen also shook me by the hand; and then we parted. Yesterday evening on the Boulevards there were groups discussing "the traitors." Some said that General Schmitz had been arrested; others that he ought to be arrested. A patriot observed to me that all foreigners in Paris ought, as a precautionary measure, to be extirpated. "Parbleu," I replied, and you may depend upon it I rolled my eyes and shrugged my shoulders in true Gallic fashion. This morning General Trochu has published a proclamation, denouncing all attacks upon his staff, and making himself responsible for its members. It is an honest, manly protest, and by far the best document which this prolific writer has issued for some time. Another complaint is made against the generals who damp the popular enthusiasm by throwing doubts upon ultimate victory. In fact, we have got to such a condition that a military man dares not venture to express his real opinion upon military matters for fear of being denounced. We are, indeed, still in a most unsurrendering mood. I was talking to-day to a banker--a friend who would do anything for me except cash my bill. In business he is a clear-headed, sensible man. I asked him what would occur if our provisions gave out before the armies of the provinces arrived to our succour. He replied that the Government would announce the fact, and call upon all able-bodied men to make a dash at the Prussian lines; that 300,000 at least would respond to that call, and would either be killed or force their way out. This will give you an idea of the present tone of the population. Nine men out of ten believe that we have enough provisions to last at least until the end of February. The only official utterance respecting the provisions is contained in a paragraph in the _Journal Officiel_ to-day, in which we are informed that there are 15,000 oxen and 40,000 sheep in Bordeaux waiting for marching orders to Paris. This is much like telling a starving man in the Strand that figs are plentiful in Palestine, and only waiting to be picked.