“One word more.  We hear that the Duke of Jenkins accompanies the descendant of Caroline of Naples.  An English duke, entendez-vous!  An English Duke, great heaven! and the Princes of England still dancing in our royal halls!  Where, where will the perfidy of Albion end?”

“The King reviewed the third and fourth battalions of Police.  The usual heart-rending cheers accompanied the monarch, who looked younger than ever we saw him—­ay, as young as when he faced the Austrian cannon at Valmy and scattered their squadrons at Gemappes.

“Rations of liquor, and crosses of the Legion of Honor, were distributed to all the men.

“The English Princes quitted the Tuileries in twenty-three coaches-and-four.  They were not rewarded with crosses of the Legion of Honor.  This is significant.”

“The Dukes of Joinville and Nemours left the palace for the departments of the Loire and Upper Rhine, where they will take the command of the troops.  The Joinville regiment—­Cavalerie de la Marine—­is one of the finest in the service.”

“Orders have been given to arrest the fanatic who calls himself Duke of Brittany, and who has been making some disturbances in the Pas de Calais.”

“Anecdote of his majesty.—­At the review of troops (Police) yesterday, his Majesty, going up to one old grognard and pulling him by the ear, said, ‘Wilt thou have a cross or another ration of wine?’ The old hero, smiling archly, answered, ’Sire, a brave man can gain a cross any day of battle, but it is hard for him sometimes to get a drink of wine.’  We need not say that he had his drink, and the generous sovereign sent him the cross and ribbon too.”

On the next day, the Government journals began to write in rather a despondent tone regarding the progress of the pretenders to the throne.  In spite of their big talking, anxiety is clearly manifested, as appears from the following remarks of the Debats:—­

“The courier from the Rhine department,” says the Debats, “brings us the following astounding Proclamation:—­

“’Strasburg, xxii.  Nivose:  Decadi. 92nd year of the Republic, one and indivisible.  We, John Thomas Napoleon, by the constitutions of the Empire, Emperor of the French Republic, to our marshals, generals, officers, and soldiers, greeting: 

“’Soldiers!

“’From the summit of the Pyramids forty centuries look down upon you.  The sun of Austerlitz has risen once more.  The Guard dies, but never surrenders.  My eagles, flying from steeple to steeple, never shall droop till they perch on the towers of Notre Dame.

“’Soldiers! the child of your father has remained long in exile.  I have seen the fields of Europe where your laurels are now withering, and I have communed with the dead who repose beneath them.  They ask where are our children?  Where is France?  Europe no longer glitters with the shine of its triumphant bayonets—­echoes no more with the shouts of its victorious cannon.  Who could reply to such a question save with a blush?—­And does a blush become the cheeks of Frenchmen?