time I pass through La Chapelle, I see hundreds of their soldiers (infantry) without bestowing on them the slightest attention. These, smart as they are on the parade, are the dirtiest slovens in the world off it: the usual costume in which one sees them running about La Chapelle is a dirty forage-cap, as dirty a grey greatcoat, generally gathered back by the waist-strap, so as to be out of the way, dirty linen trousers, shoved up at bottom by the projection of the unlaced half-boot. Such is the figure I generally see slipping from house to house, or going across the fields at a sort of Highland trot. Curiosity they have none, or it is restrained by their discipline, for I do not recollect once having met a Russian soldier dressed and walking the streets, as if to see the place. Sometimes, in passing their quarters, I have heard them sing in their squalling, drawling style, in a voice as if mocking some one; there is, however, something wild and plaintive in their ditties. Karl’s ‘Imitations,’ which I always fancied a caricature, is, I find, most excellent. The Prussians, by the by, show themselves as little about the streets as the Russians; but Austrians or Hungarians I meet constantly, generally walking two together--staring into the shop-windows, &c. &c. Tall, heavily-built, boorish-looking fellows, but apparently good-natured and orderly in their behaviour. Happening to go into a shop on the Boulevard a few days ago, one of these came in, and making some observation on my purchase, was surprised at my answering him in German, and immediately became quite friendly. Whether he knew I was an officer or not, it is impossible to say, but he followed me out of the shop, and walked some way along the Boulevard with me, and it was not without difficulty I at last succeeded in shaking him off. They are a heavy people altogether, these Austrians. I frequently pass the hotel where the Emperor lodges, and in this hot weather all the windows being open, see from the Boulevard the whole interior of the waiting-room, where the stiff formality of the Garde du Corps on duty, in their ugly old-fashioned uniforms of grey and silver lace, with ill-shaped cocked-hats stuck square on, is not a little ridiculous. However, they are, as I said before, a good, quiet people. CHAPTER XXII.