The scarcity of meat was felt in various ways; even the rich found it difficult to smuggle a joint into their houses, for it was liable to arrest on its way: some patriots would take it from a cart or the shoulder of the butcher’s boy, saying, “Ciel! this aristocrat is going to have more than his share.” One day a fashionable lady was returning home carrying a parasol and a neat parcel under her shawl. After her came six hungry dogs, who could not be persuaded to go home, though she hissed and scolded and poked them with her gay parasol. On meeting a friend, she first asked him to drive them away, and then confided to him that she had two pounds of mutton in her parcel. And so the poor dogs got none! Amongst the hungry folk we must not forget that there were nearly 4,000 English in Paris, about 800 of whom were destitute, and would have starved had it not been for the kindness of Dr. Herbert and Mr. Wallace. The wounded were well looked after, for there were 243 ambulances, of which the largest, the International, had its headquarters at the Grand Hotel. In one of the Paris journals it was stated that a lady went to the Mayor’s house of her district to ask to be given a wounded soldier, that she might nurse him back to life. They offered her a Zouave, small and swarthy. “No, no,” she exclaimed; “I wish for a blonde patient, being a brunette myself.” It was hardly worth while going to pay a visit to the Zoological Gardens, for most of the animals had been eaten. Castor and Pollux were amongst the last to render up their bodies for this service. Castor and Pollux were two very popular elephants, on whose backs half the boys and girls in Paris had taken afternoon excursions. Poor fellows! they were pronounced later on by the critical to be tough and oily--to such lengths can human ingratitude go when mutton is abundant. They were twins and inseparables in life. Their trunks were sold for 45 francs a pound, the residue for about 10 francs a pound. Besides the loss of the animals, all the glass of the conservatories in the Jardin des Plantes was shattered by the concussion of the big guns, and many valuable tropical plants were dying. The citizens, usually so gay and hopeful, presented a woebegone appearance whenever they saw their soldiers return from unsuccessful sorties. They began to look about for traitors. “Nous sommes trahis!” was their cry. There was one private of the 119th Battalion who refused to advance with the others. His Captain remonstrated with him; the private shot his Captain rather than face the Germans. A General who was near ordered the private to be shot at once. A file was drawn up, and fired on him; he fell, and was left for dead. Presently an ambulance stretcher came by, and picked him up, as a wounded man; he was still alive, and had to be dealt with further by other of his comrades. Let us hope that this man’s relations never learnt how Jacques came to be so riddled by bullets.