willing to be seen, to the smart young
equestrians on prancing steeds, who caracoled past with the air half
dandy and half _militaire_ that characterises every young Frenchman.

I am always struck in a crowd in Paris with the soldier-like air of its
male population; and this air does not seem to be the result of study,
but sits as naturally on them as does the look, half fierce, half
mocking, that accompanies it. There is something in the nature of a
Frenchman that enables him to become a soldier in less time than is
usually necessary to render the natives of other countries _au fait_ in
the routine of duty, just as he learns to dance well in a quarter of
the time required to teach them to go through a simple measure.

The Emperor Napoleon quickly observed this peculiar predisposition to a
military life in his subjects, and took advantage of it to fool them to
the top of their bent. The victories achieved beneath his banner
reflect scarcely less honour on them than on him, and the memory of
them associates his name in their hearts by the strongest bonds of
sympathy that can bind a Frenchman--the love of glory. A sense of duty,
high discipline, and true courage, influence our soldiers in the
discharge of their calling. They are proud of their country and of
their regiment, for the honour of which they are ready to fight unto
the death; but a Frenchman, though proud of his country and his
regiment, is still more proud of his individual self, and, believing
that all eyes are upon _him_ acts as if his single arm could accomplish
that which only soldiers _en masse_ can achieve.

A pleasant party at dinner at home yesterday. The Marquis de Mornay,
Count Valeski, and General Ornano, were among the number. Laughed
immoderately at the _naivete_ of ----, who is irresistibly ludicrous.

Madame ---- came in the evening and sang "God save the King." Time was
that her singing this national anthem would have electrified the
hearers, but now--. Alas! alas! that voices, like faces, should lose
their delicate flexibility and freshness, and seem but like the faint
echo of their former brilliant tones!

Does the ear of a singer, like the eye of some _has-been_ beauty, lose
its fine perception and become accustomed to the change in the voice,
as does the eye to that in the face, to which it appertains, from being
daily in the habit of seeing the said face! Merciful dispensation of
Providence, which thus saves us from the horror and dism