commander no less eminent than the Marshal himself, General Bugeaud, thus carrying on the conquest of our splendid Algerian colony, which would have been peerless indeed if we could have filled it with that excess of population which other nations still possess, but which has been dried up, in our case, by our revolutionary laws.  Our naval forces were in good condition too, so far as they could be, on the eve of that great duel between sails and steam which was to end by revolutionising everything, in spite of all the delays of the red tape faction.

Of politics, my pet aversion, I will not speak.  I had sufficient curiosity, before writing these lines, to look through the back numbers of the Moniteur for that period, and started in horror at the terrible accumulation of useless chatter I came upon.  In contrast to these torrents of fairly inoffensive eloquence, the unofficial press indulged in a large amount of intemperate writing, far more dangerous, seeing that it flattered more passions, and that the calumnies thus spread were much farther reaching.  The Government, honest, useful, and enlightened as it was, consistently patriotic and far-seeing, was able as yet to thread its way amongst the obstacles cast in its path.  Six more years were to elapse before it was to be completely hemmed in, and the deluded mob to dance wildly round the throne it had overturned singing the democratic creed, the chorus of every revolution we have had the last hundred years.

 Demolissons
 Tant que nous pourrons! 
 Apres, nous verrons
 Ce que nous ferons.

But my winter in Paris slipped swiftly by, and towards the end of May Admiral Hugon’s squadron prepared to go to sea, the repairs to the Belle-Poule were finished, and I started to join my ship.

At Lyons I embarked on a steamer to go to Toulon, and this vessel brought me to Arles under a lovely sunset.  Nothing could be prettier than the scene on arriving at this picture of an old town, with its tall towers and the great walls of its amphitheatre, its stone houses set in the Rhone, and its port full of boats with long graceful lateen yards.  It was Sunday, besides, and the promenade was crowded with pretty women.  I am very fond of the little town, and am always glad to get back to it.  So I lost no time about jumping on shore, and making over my baggage to the porter from the Hotel du Forum, I took advantage of the long twilight to see what changes three years had wrought in my old acquaintance.  The women of Arles, a Greek colony, still preserve the type of countenance so much admired by the ancients, undeteriorated by their slight admixture of Catalonian blood.  The magnificent monuments of the Roman city, the theatre and the arena, show the rank it held in ancient Gaul.  In the present day it is a well-to-do, gay, careless town, with a lively and frivolous population, fond of pleasure, and indulging freely in it.  Night overtook me during my walk, and under the splendid