In the morning we got half an allowance of liquor, and remained here until mid-day, under arms, then received orders to cook. When cooking was over, we marched on towards France. Nothing particular happened before reaching Paris, where we lay in the lines until the French capitulated. We had our posts planted at each side of the city. The French troops retired, and we got under arms and marched towards the gates. We had a cannon on each side of the gate, and gunners with lighted matches standing by them. We marched into the city; passed Lord Wellington, who stood at the gates, and were encamped on the main road in the Thuilleries, where we remained all the time we were here. In marching through the city, a lad, dressed as a Frenchman, was looking up the companies very anxiously: one of our men said, “Knock the French fellow down.” “Dinna be sae fast man,” said he; we stared to hear broad Scotch in Paris at this time: “I am looking for my cousin,"--he added, naming him; but he had been left behind, wounded. When we were in camp before the Thuilleries, the first day, two girls were looking very eagerly up and down the regiment, when we were on parade: “Do you wish a careless husband, my dear?” said one of our lads.--“May be; will you be’t?” said a Glasgow voice. “Where the devil do you come from?” said the rough fellow. “We’re Paisley lasses; this is our regiment: we want to see if there’s ony body here we ken.” The soldier, who was a Glasgow lad, could not speak. There is a music in our native tongue, in a foreign land, where it is not to be looked for, that often melts the heart when we hear it unexpectedly. These two girls had found their way from Paisley to Paris, and were working at tambouring, and did very well.