From whence comes the bitter hatred between the powers civil and military, if it does not proceed from the coquetries of the fair sex? It might be supposed that "Mars would always be in the ascendant" [Zadkiel], but it is not so; "law, civil power, and exeketive" is far ahead, but never in conjunction with the fiery planet. "Them solgers ain't good for much," says civil law, and he holds them in profound contempt--a contempt evidently engendered by rivalry. Go to the opera in the Haymarket, and behold both warriors at the entrance. Mars, all pipeclay, belts, buttons, and bayonets, rifles, ramrods, and regulation, standing like an image to do nothing, and doing it most effectually, while Bobby, all bustle, beatitude, and blueness, is hurrying about amongst rival charioteers and gorgeous footmen, keeping order most sublime, and making perfection out of chaos. But for the numbered one, somebody's carriage would stop the way all night from the fierce block that would ensue; though no one seems to see all this, while looks from all quarters indicate that our subject is an enemy to society at large. Again, compare the civil and military powers upon a grand occasion, when royalty visits the city; when every pinnacle, post, pale, rail, corner, crevice, or coign of vantage is seized by the many headed, surging and swaying backwards and forwards to catch a glimpse of the expected pageant. Here, perhaps, we have squadrons of horse artillery--troopers braided, busbied, and plumed, with jingling arms and accoutrements, sent to keep the way, while the civil power watches them backing their horses, making them prance and curvet and thrust back the crowd, which only closes in as they pass, while the policeman looks down in contempt upon their evolutions. But then comes the order: onward goes the fat inspector, and in goose step come his followers. Truncheons are drawn, men posted, and order reigns, for the crowd falls back--sometimes--but always loudly "chaffs." The policeman heeds not this though, for he knows the reward of merit, that is the common reward, and remembering all this at other times, he moves on the muffin boy, who revenges himself by yelling his wares with renewed energy as soon as he has turned the corner, while again law smiles contemptuously, and directs his attention to the orange girl and moves her off the pavement. Reward: a queer name; a grimace; and as soon as his back is turned, a handful of orange-peel scattered upon the slabs for the benefit of the passengers.