gnant "Impossible" was the answer. "Why not?" I asked.
The look of contempt with which the clerks gazed on me was expressive.
It meant, "Do you really imagine that a functionary--a postman--is going
to forward your letters in an irregular manner?" At this moment a sort
of young French Jefferson Brick came in. Evidently he was a Republican
recently set in authority. To him I turned. "Citizen, I want my letter
to go to London. It is a press letter. These bureaucrats say that they
dare not send it by a horse express; I appeal to you, as I am sure you
are a man of expedients." "These people," he replied, scowling at the
clerks, "are demoralised. They are the ancient valets of a corrupt
Court; give me your letter; if possible it shall go, 'foi de citoyen.'"
I handed my letter to Jefferson, but whether it is on its way to
England, or still in his patriotic hands, I do not know. As I passed out
through the courtyard I saw postmen seated on the boxes of carts, with
no horses before them. It was their hour to carry out the letters, and
thus mechanically they fulfilled their duty. English Government
officials have before now been jeered at as men of routine, but the most
ancient clerk in Somerset House is a man of wild impulse and boundless
expedient compared with the average of functionaries great and small
here. The want of "shiftiness" is a national characteristic. The French
are like a flock of sheep without shepherds or sheep-dogs. Soldiers and
civilians have no idea of anything except doing what they are ordered to
do by some functionary. Let one wheel in an administration get out of
order, and everything goes wrong. After my visit to the post-office I
went to the central telegraph office, and sent you a telegram. The clerk
was very surly at first, but he said that he thought a press telegram
would pass the wires. When I paid him he became friendly. My own
impression is that my twelve francs, whoever they may benefit, will not
benefit the British public.

From the telegraph-office I directed my steps to a club where I was
engaged to dine. I found half-a-dozen whist tables in full swing. The
conversation about the war soon, however, became general. "This is our
situation," said, as he dealt a hand, a knowing old man of the world, a
sort of French James Clay: "generally if one has no trumps in one's
hand, one has at least some good court cards in the other suits; we've
got neither trumps nor court cards." "Et le General Trochu