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224 de Volontaires féminins en Angleterre).” It must not be supposed that this is what would be called in the rude language of camps “a shave.” The intelligent editor heartily believes in his own announcement, and by this time our French neighbours are perfectly convinced that our countrywomen have really turned out with arms in their hands, in defence of their helpless fathers, husbands, brothers, sons, nephews, and male cousins. The editor is courteous, sarcastic; grave, merry; witty, and exceedingly dull at our expense. “There is a fact,” he says, “which France would refuse to believe, if it was not supported by the evidence of photography, ‘ce témoin irrécusable.’ England, not satisfied with raising with one effort an army of 150,000 Volunteers, has pushed the principle of patriotism a little further; one may even say, has exceeded the limits assigned by right reason even to public spirit. This is the turn which things take amongst a people disposed to mistake exaggeration for enthusiasm.” After this fine moral reflection, the editor adds:—“But let us come to the point; it is time to give an explanation to those amongst our readers who may be stupified by a glance at the engraving in the next page.” The engraving represents the three ladies in the Knickerbockers, &c. We can’t do these things as well as they are done in Paris, and so let it be understood that what follows is written not with English, but with French ink.

A society of English ladies, who had been dreaming of Zouaves, has risen up like a single man (the irony is italicised in the original), and has determined to go halves with the Riflemen in the defence of the country. It is not exactly proved that the fatherland is in danger, but it would be cruel to say a word which might calm these alarms, and so deprive these ladies of the “prétexte complaisant” for playing at soldiers. Their fancy is quite harmless. The intelligent writer does not seem to apprehend any serious danger to an invading force from the efforts of these heroines. He does not even see why they should not be thoroughly drilled, if only precaution is taken that their rifles shall not in any case be loaded. Here is a box on the ears for the British female. The writer is a sad fellow, and proceeds with his odious sneers. He is pleased with the thought that this institution of the British Riflewomen will throw a little variety into our military pictures. MM. Horace Vernet, Yvon, Dumarescq, and all the modern Van-der-Meulens must set their pallets afresh. At the next exhibition M. Albert de Lasalle’s prophetic soul foresees “Bivouacs of English Ladies,” “Patrols of English Ladies,” &c. Who would not lead a forlorn hope against such enemies as these? One would think that M. de Lasalle might have left the poor things quiet after grinding them down to the dust in this way. Not a bit of it. He pretends to fear that our legs of mutton may get scorched, and that poor Paterfamilias’s false collars may sometimes need a button, whilst his martial spouse has gone where glory waits her, and is perfecting herself in the principles of “la charge en douze temps” whatever that may be. Mais que voulez-vous? Il fallait opter. When called upon to choose between the welfare of the country and that of the stew-pot, the British female could not hesitate. After pelting our wives and daughters with these pitiless sarcasms, M. de Lasalle turns round upon us, the men of England. He tells us, that there is compensation in store for us. Although our roast mutton may be burnt, and our “dickies” may be without buttons, we shall escape with fewer turns of service whilst our fair countrywomen are doing duty for us. Besides, there is this farther advantage, that whilst they are on guard, we may learn how to look after the cooking, and—oh, death! oh, fury! oh, vengeance!—how to darn stockings.

After he has treated us in this shocking way, M. de Lasalle proceeds to soothe our wounded pride in more courteous tone. He says: “At the bottom of all this, as at the bottom of all things English, there is a serious thought, and the sentiment which has inspired the idea of the formation of a force of Riflewomen is most praiseworthy. The spirit of the ancient Amazons, and of the women of Sparta, has animated these ladies, whom we may regard as funny in their military costume, but ridiculous—!” Thank you, M. de Lasalle, for this scrap of consolation. A strong head and a kind heart always go together. Would that you had persevered in this view! Why, after half lifting us from the ground with one hand, do you knock us down again with the other? Why tell us, that if an intelligent Frenchman was inclined to be calumnious, he might just suggest that feminine coquetry might realise heavy profits out of this martial arrangement. The elegance of the costume worn by the Riflewomen—which, to M. de Lasalle’s personal knowledge, was a powerful recruiting agent—might, if a man was inclined to be ill-natured, inspire him with certain ideas, not to say convictions, upon this critical point. Voyez plutôt comment on se met dans ce joli bataillon! Then follows a description of the uniform of the Riflewomen; and as it will be quite as new to our readers as to the well-informed French public who rely upon the “Monde Illustré” for their facts, here it is. “The hat is of circular form, something like the Spanish sombrero (it is, in fact, our old friend the Mandarin). The coat fits tight at the waist, and is embroidered and fashioned like that of the old mousquetaires; unmentionables à la Zouave; and from the garter downwards (Fie! M. de Lasalle!) discloses the form of the leg, which is covered by tight elastic hose. In the hat there is a plume, which is the sport of every wind. On serait jolie à moins!” So far M. Albert de Lasalle.

May we venture to suggest to him, that he has mistaken a pretty little photograph, which is just now to be seen in our shop-windows, for the indication of a serious fact. As well might we suppose that all the matrons of France and Belgium have taken to dancing the cancan because engravings of “La Reine Pomaré” engaged in that delightful exercise are still extant. Let our French neighbours come over to us as friends, not as enemies, and no doubt they will surrender at discretion before the sustained fire of our Riflewomen; but at least, in such a case, defeat will be agreeable, and death without pain.