e grandest bursts of patriotic eloquence find no response from an
audience who listen to them beneath half-a-dozen petroleum lamps. It is
somewhat singular, but it is not the less certain, that the effect of a
speech depends very much upon the amount of light in the room in which
it is delivered. I remember once I went down to assist a friend of mine
in an electioneering campaign in a small borough. His opponent was a
most worthy and estimable squire, who resided in the neighbourhood. It
was, of course, my business to prove that he was a despicable knave and
a drivelling idiot. This I was engaged in doing at a public meeting in
the town-hall. The Philippics of Demosthenes were milk and water in
comparison with my denunciations--when just at the critical moment--as I
was carrying conviction into the breasts of the stolid Britons who were
listening to me, the gas flickered and went out. Three candles were
brought in. I recommenced my thunder; but it was of no use. The candles
utterly destroyed its effect, and two days afterwards the squire became
an M.P., and still is a silent ornament of St. Stephen's.

I trust that England never will be invaded. But if it is, we shall do
well to profit by the experience of what is occurring here. There must
be no English force, half citizen half soldier. All who take part in the
national defence must submit to the strict discipline of soldiers. A
vast amount of money has been laid out in equipping the National Guard.
Their pay alone amounts to above 20,000fr. per diem, and, as far as the
defence of Paris is concerned, they might as well have remained quietly
by their own firesides. There are, no doubt, brave men among them, but
as their battalions insist upon being regarded as citizens even when
under arms, they have no discipline, and are little better than an armed
mob. The following extract from an article in the last number of the
_Revue des Deux Mondes_ gives some interesting details respecting their
habits when on duty behind that most useless of all works of defence,
the line of the Paris fortifications:--"On the arrival of a battalion,
the chief of the post arranges the hours during which each man is to be
on active duty. After this, the men occupy themselves as they please.
Some play at interminable games of _bouchon_; others, notwithstanding
orders to the contrary, turn their attention to ecarte and piquet;
others gossip over the news of the day with the artillerymen, who are
k