etters, but I doubt if they ever get any farther. Mr. Hore, the
naval attache of the British Embassy, also left this morning for Tours.
As the Parisian fleet consists of one gunboat, I presume that he
considers that his valuable services may be utilised elsewhere.

_October 13th._

Frenchmen have none of that rough and tumble energy which enables
Anglo-Saxons to shake themselves, no matter under what circumstances,
into some sort of shape. Left to themselves they are as helpless as
children, it takes a certain time to organize them, and to evolve order
from chaos, but when once the process is effected, they surpass us in
administrative mechanism, and in readiness to fall into new ways. The
organization of Paris, as a besieged city, is now in good working trim,
and it must be admitted that its results are more satisfactory than a
few weeks ago could have been anticipated. Except when some important
event is taking place at the front, there are no crowds in the streets,
and even the groups which used to impede circulation are now rare. The
National Guards go in turn to the ramparts, like clerks to their office.
In the morning the battalions are changed, and those who come off duty
march to their respective "quartiers" and quietly disband. Unless there
is some extraordinary movement, during the rest of the day and night
there is little marching of troops. In the evening the Boulevards are
moderately full from eight to ten o'clock, but now that only half the
number of street lamps are lit--they look gloomy even then--at half-past
ten every _cafe_ and shop is closed, and half-an-hour later every one
has gone home. There are no quarrels and no drunkards. Robberies
occasionally occur, but they are rare. "Social evils" have again made
their appearance, but they are not so insolently conspicuous as they
were under the paternal rule of the Empire. Paris, once so gay, has
become as dull as a small German capital. Its inhabitants are not in the
depths of despair, but they are thoroughly bored. They are in the
position of a company of actors shut up in a theatre night and day, and
left to their own devices, without an audience to applaud or to hiss
them. "What do you think they are saying of us in England?" is a
question which I am asked not less than a hundred times every day. My
interrogator usually goes on to say, that it is impossible that the
heroism of the population has not elicited the admiration of the world.
It seems to