In looking back at this journal (if so we may term what is written by fits and starts, as an otherwise idle day occurs), I find omitted altogether the review of the Prussian army, which took place some days ago in the Place Louis Quinze as usual, only in this case the line was formed along the Boulevard, and the column entered the place by the Rue Royale. I have neglected this so long, that I remember few particulars of the review. The troops looked well, their equipment appeared good, the men young, active, and well drilled, countenances full of animation, and apparently proud of being soldiers; cavalry well mounted, and the cuirassiers wore black cuirasses, instead of polished ones like the French. The crowd was as great as when we were reviewed, and the ground was kept by a parcel of wild-looking Cossacks in blue frocks and very shabby-looking horses and appointments--_voilà tout!_ But there was one occurrence at that review that I shall never forget. The Cossacks were under an old chieftain, evidently of high rank, whom I understood to be no less a person than their Hettman Platov, besides whom several Russian general officers rode about giving directions to the Cossacks. It was with some difficulty that I made my way through the crowd and gained a front place, not far from the _debouchement_ of the Rue Royale. The only military man near me was a proud-looking Russian officer, who, from his large epaulettes and numerous decorations, I took to be a man of some consequence, and, from the sidelong glances at my plain and rather shabby pelisse, somewhat annoyed at my near neighbourhood. We were, however, knee to knee, and, _bongré malgré_, destined to keep company, for the throng was too dense to admit of changing place; and so, as it fluctuated backward and forward, we were forced to advance or retire like files of the same squadron. The Cossacks were very actively employed with their long lances keeping us all back, but still the crowd continually pushed us forward until we were sometimes almost in the ranks of the advancing column. At length, tired of his ineffectual attempts at restraining us within bounds, the Cossack who was our immediate sentry made an angry complaint to one of the general officers, and, from pointing our way, evidently particularised me and my neighbour. The general, flying into a passion, first looked thunder and lightning at us, and then, cane in air, rushed to the charge. It will readily be imagined that the ferocious gestures meant to drive us from the field only roused my John Bullism, and caused me to assume an air of defiance. Not so my superb neighbour; on him it had full effect. He looked intimidated, reined back his horse, and, turning, endeavoured to push through the crowd and make his escape, leaving me to bear the brunt of the attack. The general, however, knew his game; so, passing me with a scowl which I smiled at, and a grumble which I did not