that you can hardly breathe, but you hear a groan, and a stumble; your next neighbour and three men behind him have been sent into eternity by a cannon-ball from the enemy.  Do you think then that the man who fired the cannon knows, or cares who he has killed?  Well, on you go; had you not been in a crowd, the enemy’s fire, maybe, might have frightened you; but good company makes men brave:  on you go, and throw yourself into the trench.  You find a more active man than yourself just above you; he is already nearly at the top of the bank, his feet are stuck in the sods above your head; he is about to spring upon the rampart, when the bayonet of a republican passes through his breast, and he falls at your feet, or perhaps upon your head.  You feel your heart shudder, and your blood runs cold, but it is no time for pausing now; you could not return if you would, neither can you remain where you are:  up you go, grasping your musket in one hand and digging the other into the loose sods.  Your eyes and mouth are crammed with dust, your face is bespattered with your comrade’s blood, your ears are full of strange noises; your very nature changes within you; the smell of gunpowder and of carnage makes you feel like a beast of prey.  You do not think any longer of the friends who have fallen beside you; you only long to grapple with the enemy who are before you.”

“Oh, mercy me! how very shocking!” said the housekeeper.  “Pray don’t go on Chapeau; pray don’t, or I shall have such horrid dreams.”

“Oh! but you must go on, Chapeau,” said the confidential maid, “I could never bear that you should leave off; it is very horrid, surely; but as Mademoiselle says, we must learn to look at blood and wounds now, and hear of them, too.”

“Do pray tell us the rest,” said the page, who sat listening intently with his mouth wide open.  “I do so like it; pray tell us what Momont did after he became a beast of prey?”

Chapeau was supremely happy; he felt that his military experience and his descriptive talents were duly appreciated, and he continued: 

“Well, you are now in the camp, on the enemy’s ground, and you have to fight every inch, till you drive them out of it; six or seven of your comrades are close to you, and you all press on, still grasping your muskets and pushing your bayonets before you:  the enemy make a rush to drive you back again; on they come against you, by twenties and by thirties; those who are behind, push forward those who are in front, and suddenly you find a heavy dragging weight upon your hands, and again you hear the moans of a dying man close to you—­almost in your arms.  A republican soldier has fallen on your bayonet.  The struggles of the wounded man nearly overpower you; you twist and turn and wrench, and drag your musket to and fro, but it is no use; the weapon is jammed between his ribs; you have not space nor time to extricate it; you are obliged to leave it, and on you go unarmed, stumbling over the body of your