ave given us the double advantage
of saving coals for the manufacture of gas, and of protecting from the
rigours of the coming winter hundreds whose sufferings would have been
mitigated by light and heat. Personally, I did not suffer much. From
what I have seen during the siege, I have come to the conclusion that
shortcomings in the way of food are far less hard to bear, nay, are
almost cheerfully borne, in a warm room and with a lamp brightly
burning. I leave out of the question the quantities of mineral oil
wasted in the attempt to set fire to the woods, because in many
instances the attempt failed utterly.

Meanwhile, patriotism was kept at the boiling point, by glowing reports
of the heroic defence of General Uhrich at Strasburg. The statue,
representing the capital of Alsace on the Place de la Concorde, became
the goal of a reverent pilgrimage on the part of the Parisians, though
the effect of it was spoiled too frequently by M. Prudhomme holding
forth sententiously, to his sons apparently, to the crowd in reality.
These discourses reminded one too much of Heine's sneer, that "all
Frenchmen are actors, and the worse are generally on the stage." In this
instance, however, the amateurs ran the professional very hard. The
crowds were not hypercritical, though, and they applauded the speaker,
who departed, accompanied by his offspring, with the proud consciousness
that he was a born orator, and that he had done his duty to his country
by spouting platitudes. It is not difficult to give the general sequel
to that amateur performance. Next morning there is a line in some
obscure paper, and M. Prudhomme, beside himself with joy, leaves his
card on the journalist who wrote it; the journalist leaves his in
return, and for the next six months the latter has his knife and fork
laid at M. Prudhomme's table. The acquaintance generally terminates on
M. Prudhomme's discovery that Madame Prudhomme carried her friendship
too far by looking after the domestic concerns of the scribe, at the
scribe's bachelor quarters.

The men who did not spout were the Duruys, the Meissoniers, and a
hundred others I could mention. The eminent historian and grand-master
of the University, though sixty, donned the simple uniform of a National
Guard, and performed his garrison duties like the humblest artisan, only
distinguished from the latter by his star of grand-officer of the Legion
d'Honneur; the great painter did the same. The French shopkeeping