Cigars are, I think, a government monopoly here as in Spain--at least there is some mystery which I don’t understand further than that the French Government has been concerned in forcing the lieges to smoke bad cigars or none at all. Only two kinds are procurable here: the one, a little black thing made of the commonest tobacco, they call Dutch, _des cigars Hollandais_; the other, a large cigar of very common bad tobacco also, has a wheaten straw stuck into it to suck the smoke through; and this, besides the villanous taste of the tobacco, burns your palate horribly. The other evening I had retired after dinner to the terrace to enjoy, as usual, the charms of a fine sky and fine landscape. Twilight crept gradually over the valley, and, by obscuring the distant parts, allowed play to imagination, and gave additional interest to the scenery. Light airs from time to time sighed amongst the overhanging foliage; the joyous laugh of the villagers comes softened on the breeze, united with the monotonous splash of the fountain. I had seated myself in the little _kiosk_ at the end of the terrace; the smoke of my cigar arose lazily in the air; my eyes were fixed on the silver Seine, and my mind travelling over again the events of the last three or four weeks, drawing comparisons between the feverish excitement prevailing through the former but greater part of that time, and the delicious tranquillity of the present, when suddenly the grating sound of angry voices wounded my ear and dissipated my reverie. I listened; the speakers appeared to be at our park, or near it. There were English voices and foreign of some sort. A quarrel between my men and the natives, no doubt. But how came the latter in the grounds? The voices became louder and fiercer; there was a rattling of sabres, too. Good heavens! are the French renewing the Sicilian Vespers? Whilst asking myself this question, I was already hurrying along the tortuous path leading to that part of the grounds, and soon came upon the scene of action. Here I found Quartermaster Hall and several gunners struggling with our hussars of Brunswick, whose horses, bridled and saddled, seemed the objects of contention from the way in which they were alternately seized by one or the other and most unceremoniously dragged about by both.