mere fun, certainly, but I thought them in earnest. I found this the case everywhere. To us they were never backward in avowing their attachment to Buonaparte or their hatred of the Bourbons, of _Louis le Cochon_. The animated scene in the streets prevented me paying much attention to the town. The impression I retain of it is, that it is gloomy and the streets narrow; but that there are many most respectable-looking houses, some of them very prettily situated amongst shrubbery, and particularly one just as we left the town and crossed the Nonette--the long open windows of which enabled us to peep into spacious and handsomely-furnished apartments, looking most deliciously cool. Just beyond the town we overtook the rear of the Prussian baggage, escorted by a corps of lancers, whose simple and serviceable costume pleased me much: plain blue frocks, buttoned close up to the throat,[3] and drab trousers or overalls; not a particle of ornament, nor a superfluous article about their appointments. I think they are the most soldier-like looking fellows I have ever seen. This is our first meeting with any of their army since the 18th. Continuing our route through the forest of Pontarme, we soon came out on a more open but still well-wooded country--the chaussée constantly bordered and overshadowed by lofty elms, the cross-roads by apple, pear, and cherry trees, all now loaded with fruit. Here a sudden and disagreeable change took place in the aspect of the towns and villages. We had got on the route of the Prussian army, which was everywhere marked by havoc and desolation. What a contrast! In Senlis, a few miles back, all was peace, plenty, and confidence,--here traces of war in its most horrid form, desolation and desertion. The inhabitants had everywhere fled, and we found naught but empty houses. Troops and their usual followers were the only human beings we saw now. The village of Loures,[4] where we arrived about noon, presented a horrid picture of devastation. A corps of Prussians halted there last night, and, excepting the walls of the houses, have utterly destroyed it. The doors and windows torn out and consumed at the bivouac-fire--a similar fate seems to have befallen furniture of every kind, except a few chairs, and even sofas, which the soldiers had reserved for their own use, and left standing about in the gardens and orchards, or, in some places, had given a parting kick to, for many had fallen forward on the embers of the bivouac-fires, and lay partially consumed. Clothes and household linen, beds, curtains, and carpets, torn to rags, or half-burned, lay scattered about in all directions. The very road was covered with rags, feathers, fragments of broken furniture, earthenware, glass, &c. Large chests of drawers, _armoires_, stood about broken or burned. The very floors had been pulled up and the walls disfigured in every possible way. It were needless to add that no human being was to be seen amidst this desolation. It was with