Glorious news!  I have seen Lullier again.  We had lost Cluseret, lost Rossel; Delescluze does not suffice, and except for Dombrowski and La Cecilia with his prima-donna-like name, the company of the Commune would be sadly wanting in stars.  Happily!  Lullier has been restored to us.  What had become of him? he only wrote seven or eight letters a day to Rochefort and Maroteau, that I can find out.  How did he manage to employ that indomitable activity of his, and that of his two hundred friends, who with their red Garibaldis and blue sailor trousers made him the most picturesque escort you can imagine?  Was he meditating some gigantic enterprises the dictatorship that Cluseret had dreamed of and Rossel disdained, was he about to assume it for the good of the Republic?  I have no idea; but whatever he has been doing, I have seen him again at the club held in the church of Saint Jacques.

[Illustration:  GENERAL LA CECILIA.[89]]

Ha! ha!  Worthless hypocrites and inquisitors, who for the last eighteen hundred years have crushed, degraded, and tortured the poor; you thought our turn was never to come, you monks, priests, and archbishops!  Thanks to the Commune you now preach in the prisons of the Republic; you may confess, if you like, the spiders of your dungeons, and give the holy viaticum to the rats which play around your legs!  You can no longer do any harm to patriots.  No more churches, no more convents!  Those who have not houses in the Champs Elysees shall lodge in your convents; in your churches shall be held honest assemblies, which will give the people their rights; as to their duties, that is an invention of reactionists.  No more of your sermons or speeches:  after Bossuet, Napoleon Gaillard!

[Illustration:  THE CHURCH OF SAINT EUSTACHE.  Used as a Red Club.  Partly destroyed by fire.]

On entering the church of Saint Eustache yesterday, I was agreeably surprised to find the font full of tobacco instead of holy-water, and to see the altar in the distance covered with bottles and glasses.  Some one informed me that was the counter.  In one of the lateral chapels, a statue of the Virgin had been dressed out in the uniform of a vivandiere, with a pipe in her mouth.  I was, however, particularly charmed with the amiable faces of the people I saw collected there.  The sex to which we owe the tricoteuses was decidedly in the majority.  It was quite delightful not to see any of those elegant dresses and frivolous manners, which have for so long disgraced the better half of the human race.  Thank heaven! my eyes fell with rapture on the heroic rags of those ladies who do us the honour of sweeping our streets for us.  Many of these female patriots were proud to bear in the centre of their faces a rubicund nose, that rivalled in colour the Communal flag on the Hotel de Ville.  Oh, glorious red nose, the distinguished sign of Republicanism!  As to the men, they seemed to have been chosen among