citizens, looking at me, but not being a Herod, I did not comply with their order. The mother became frightened lest a _coup d'etat_ should be made upon her offspring, and after turning it up and solemnly smacking it, took it away from the club. By this time orator No. 1 had been succeeded by orator No. 2. This gentleman, a lieutenant in the National Guard, thus commenced. "Citizens, I am better than any of you. (Indignant disapproval.) In the Hotel de Ville on Monday I told General Trochu that he was a coward." (Tremendous shouts of "You are a liar," and men and women shook their fists at the speaker.) Up rose the venerable Blanqui. There was a dead silence. "I am master here," he said; "when I call a speaker to order he must leave the tribune, until then he remains." The club listened to the words of the sage with reverential awe, and the orator was allowed to go on. "This, perhaps, no one will deny," he continued. "I took an order from the Citizen Flourens to the public printing establishment. The order was the deposition of the Government of National Defence"--(great applause)--and satisfied with his triumph the lieutenant relapsed into private life. After him followed several other citizens, who proposed resolutions, which were put and carried. I only remember one of them, it was that the Jesuits in Vaugirard (a school) should at once be ejected from the territories of the Republic. At ten o'clock the venerable Blanqui announced that the sitting was over, and the public noisily withdrew. An attempt has been made by the respectable portion of the community to establish a club at the Porte St. Martin Theatre, where speakers of real eminence nightly address audiences. I was there a few evenings ago, and heard A. Coquerel and M. Lebueier, both Protestant pastors, deliver really excellent speeches. The former is severe and demure, the latter a perfect Boanerges. He frequently took up a chair and dashed it to the ground to emphasise his words. This club is usually presided over by M. Cernuschi, a banker, who was in bad odour with the Imperial Government for having subscribed a large sum for the electoral campaign against the Plebiscite. Another club is held at the Folies Bergeres, an old concert-hall, something like the Alhambra. The principal orator here is a certain Falcet, a burly athlete, who was, I believe, formerly a professional wrestler. Here the quality of the speeches is poor, the sentiments of the speakers mildly Republican. At the Club Montmartre the president is M. Tony Reveillon, a journalist of some note. The assessors are always elected. A person proposes himself, and the President puts his name to the audience. Generally a dozen are rejected before the two necessary to make the meeting in order are chosen. Every time I have been there an old man--I am told an ex-professor in a girls' school--has got up, and with great unction blessed the National Guards--the "heroic