The Parisians have an indomitable pride, they have called upon the world to witness their achievements, and the thought of King William riding in triumph along the Boulevards is so bitter a one, that it may nerve them to the wildest desperation.

If, however, Bazaine capitulates, and the armies of the Loire and of Lyons are only the figments of their own brains, it may be that they will bow to what they will call destiny.

"Heaven has declared against us," is an expression that I already hear frequently uttered.

It is indeed as impossible to predicate here, as it is in London, what may be the mood of this fickle and impulsive population a week hence.

All I can positively say is, that at the present moment they are in "King Cambyses' vein." We ought not to judge a foreign nation by our own standard, but it is impossible not to re-echo Lord Bolingbroke's "poor humanity" a hundred times a day, when one reads the inflated bombast of the newspapers, and hears the nonsense that is talked by almost everyone; when one sees the Gaul marching off to the ramparts convinced, because he wears a kepi and a sword, that he is a very Achilles; when regiments solemnly crown a statue with laurel crowns, and sign round robins to die for their country.