next morning said there were only six thousand!  After the charging was over, the reviewing party rode to the center of the field, and the troops galloped round them; and the Emperor distributed decorations.  We could recognize the Emperor and Empress; Prince Albert in huzzar uniform, with a green plume in his cap; and the Prince Imperial, in cap and the uniform of a lieutenant, on horseback in front; while the Princess occupied a carriage behind them.

There was a crush of people at the entrance to see the royals make their exit.  Gendarmes were busy, and mounted guards went smashing through the crowd to clear a space.  Everybody was on the tiptoe of expectation.  There is a portion of the Emperor’s guard; there is an officer of the household; there is an emblazoned carriage; and, quick, there! with a rush they come, driving as if there was no crowd, with imperial haste, postilions and outriders and the imperial carriage.  There is a sensation, a cordial and not loud greeting, but no Yankee-like cheers.  That heavy gentleman in citizen’s dress, who looks neither to right nor left, is Napoleon III.; that handsome woman, grown full in the face of late, but yet with the bloom of beauty and the sweet grace of command, in hat and dark riding-habit, bowing constantly to right and left, and smiling, is the Empress Eugenie.  And they are gone.  As we look for something more, there is a rout in the side avenue; something is coming, unexpected, from another quarter:  dragoons dash through the dense mass, shouting and gesticulating, and a dozen horses go by, turning the corner like a small whirlwind, urged on by whip and spur, a handsome boy riding in the midst,—­a boy in cap and simple uniform, riding gracefully and easily and jauntily, and out of sight in a minute.  It is the boy Prince Imperial and his guard.  It was like him to dash in unexpectedly, as he has broken into the line of European princes.  He rides gallantly, and Fortune smiles on him to-day; but he rides into a troubled future.  There was one more show,—­a carriage of the Emperor, with officers, in English colors and side-whiskers, riding in advance and behind:  in it the future King of England, the heavy, selfish-faced young man, and beside him his princess, popular wherever she shows her winning face,—­a fair, sweet woman, in light and flowing silken stuffs of spring, a vision of lovely youth and rank, also gone in a minute.

These English visitors are enjoying the pleasures of the French capital.  On Sunday, as I passed the Hotel Bristol, a crowd, principally English, was waiting in front of it to see the Prince and Princess come out, and enter one of the Emperor’s carriages in waiting.  I heard an Englishwoman, who was looking on with admiration “sticking out” all over, remark to a friend in a very loud whisper, “I tell you, the Prince lives every day of his life.”  The princely pair came out at length, and drove away, going to visit Versailles.  I don’t know what the Queen would think of this way of spending Sunday; but if Albert Edward never does anything worse, he does n’t need half the praying for that he gets every Sunday in all the English churches and chapels.