do their duty, but that they are doubtful of ultimate success. Come inside, and talk to some hero who has never yet got beyond the ramparts, Cato at Utica is a joke to him, Palafox at Saragossa a whining coward. Since the forts have been bombarded, he has persuaded himself that he is eating, drinking, and sleeping under the fire of the enemy. "Human nature is a rum 'un," said Mr. Richard Swiveller; and most assuredly this is true of French nature. That real civil courage and spirit of self-sacrifice which the Parisians have shown, in submitting to hardship and ruin rather than consent to the dismemberment of their country, they regard as no title to respect. Nothing which does not strike the imagination has any value in their eyes. A uniform does not make a soldier; and although they have all arrayed themselves in uniform, they are far worse soldiers than the peasantry who have been enrolled in the Mobiles. To tell them this, however, would make them highly indignant. Military glory is their passion, and it is an unfortunate one. To admire the pomp and pride of glorious war no more makes a warrior than to admire poetry makes a poet. The Parisian is not a coward; but his individuality is so strongly developed that he objects to that individuality being destroyed by some stray shot. To die with thousands looking on is one thing; to die obscurely is another. French courage is not the same as that of the many branches of the great Saxon family. A Saxon has a dogged stubbornness which gives him an every-day and every-hour courage. That of the Frenchman is more dependent upon external circumstances. He must have confidence in his leader, he must have been encouraged by success, and he must be treated with severity tempered with judicious flattery. Give him a sword, and let him prance about on a horse like a circus rider, and, provided there are a sufficient number of spectators, he will do wonders, but he will not consent to perish obscurely for the sake of anything or anyone. Trochu has utterly failed in exciting enthusiasm in those under his command; he issues many proclamations, but they fail to strike the right chord. Instead of keeping up discipline by judicious severity, he endeavours to do so by lecturing like a schoolmaster. And then, since the commencement of the siege he has been unsuccessful in all his offensive movements. I am not a military man, but although I can understand the reasons against a sortie _en masse_, it does appear to me strange that the Prussians are not more frequently disquieted by attacks which at least would oblige them to make many a weary march round the outer circle, and would prevent them from detaching troops for service elsewhere.