have made this population as peaceful
to-day, as they were warlike a few weeks ago.

I really am sorry for these vain, silly, gulled humbugs among whom I am
living. They have many amiable qualities, although, in trying to be
Spartans, they have mistaken their vocation. They are, indeed, far too
agreeable to be Spartans, who in private life must have been the most
intolerable of bores. It is a sad confession of human weakness, but, as
a rule, persons are not liked on account of their virtues. Excessively
good people are--speaking socially--angular. Take, for instance, the
Prussians; they are saints compared with the French. They have every
sort of excellence: they are honest, sober, hard-working,
well-instructed, brave, good sons, husbands, and fathers; and yet all
this is spoilt by one single fault--they are insupportable. Laugh at the
French, abuse them as one may, it is impossible to help liking them.
Admire, respect the Prussians as one may, it is impossible to help
disliking them. I will venture to say that it would be impossible to
find 100 Germans born south of the Main who would declare, on their
honour, that they prefer a Prussian to a Frenchman. The only Prussian I
ever knew who was an agreeable man was Bismarck. All others with whom I
have been thrown--and I have lived for years in Germany--were proud as
Scotchmen, cold as New Englanders, and touchy as only Prussians can be.
I once had a friend among them. His name was Buckenbrock. Inadvertently
I called him Butterbrod. We have never spoken since. A Prussian
lieutenant is the most offensive specimen of humanity that nature and
pipeclay have ever produced. Apart from all political considerations,
the supremacy of this nation in Europe will be a social calamity, unless
France, like vanquished Greece, introduces the amenities of society
among these pedants, squires, and martinets.

What, however, is to be done for the French? Nothing, I am afraid. They
have brought their troubles on their own heads; and, to use an
Americanism, they must face the music. Even at this late moment they
fail to realise the fact that they ever will be called upon to endure
any real hardships, or that their town ever really will be bombarded. I
was watching the crowd on the Boulevards this afternoon. It was
dispirited because it had for twenty-four hours set its heart upon
peace, and was disappointed like a child who cannot get the toy it
wants; but I will venture to say, not one perso