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 imbécile_," 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: