The “dead walls” of Rome, as we learn from the telegrams, were lately placarded with immense posters proclaiming the Italian Republic.

Rome being an “Eternal City,” we were not previously aware that any of her walls were dead.  If they are, however, it may be that the posters of the posters referred to took that method of bringing them to life again, which may be looked on as a post mortem proceeding.

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[Illustration:  THE RETORT COURTEOUS.

Newly-arrived Briton. “ENGLISH SPARROWS?—­IMPOSSIBLE.  WHY, THEY CHIRP THROUGH THEIR LITTLE NOSES LIKE WEGULAR YANKEES.”

Park-Keeper. “WELL, I DON’T KNOW, BUT IT TAKES TWO MEN AND A CART, EVERY DAY TO REMOVE THE ‘Hs’ DROPPED BY THEM ABOUT THE PARK.”]

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OUR PORTFOLIO.

PARIS, FIRST WEEK OF THE REPUBLIC, 1870.

DEAR PUNCHINELLO:  Things are becoming so mixed here that I am thinking of retiring to Tours with the other tourists.  The city is all on the go—­that is to say, the non-combatants are all going out of it as fast as possible.

GAMBETTA left here the early part of the week, and it was better for him that he should.  I wouldn’t give a sou for any of these republicans if they chance to fall into the clutches of King WILLIAM.  It is reported that he has issued an order for the strangulation of all French children between the ages of three and five, in reprisal for the treacherous blowing up of Germans at Laon.

BISMARCK has requested the privilege of cooking ROCHEFORT’S mutton for him, should he be taken alive when Paris falls.  What he means by “cooking his mutton” has not yet transpired, but it is gloomily vaticinated that he intends to boil him down.  ROCHEFORT mutton with caper sauce ought to satisfy the epicurean taste of BISMARCK, especially as ROCHEFORT would cease his caperings from that hour.  Late last night there was an alarm in the city that the whole Prussian army was at Noisy-le-Sec.  As you may have suspected, a noisy demonstration followed this announcement.

I got out of bed, rang the bell, and requested the concierge to bring me an auger.  The man looked a little astonished at what he undoubtedly considered a strange request.

For a man to get out of bed in the middle of the night and call for an auger, was indeed a trifle peculiar.  When he brought it, I increased his astonishment by proceeding to bore a hole through the top of my trunk.

“C’est un imbecile,” said the concierge, retreating a step or two.

“Not much,” I retorted, boring away with renewed vigor.  Presently the orifice was made.  Into it I thrust an Alpen stock which had accompanied me in many a toilsome march through Switzerland, and lifting the lid, took from the cradle of the trunk a star-spangled banner made of silk, which had been presented to me by the Young Men’s Christian Association of New York, prior to my departure for Europe, as a token of their esteem for my services in the capacity of a “reformed drunkard.”  I fastened the flag to the stock, put my boots, clothes and other valuables on top of the trunk, and in a voice intended to express my defiance of King WILLIAM and his German Lagerheads, spoke these words: