Thus, then, the royal family of HaÏti, hold
a reception; officiating at it with a French
grace, surrounded by a court brilliant in
costume, and equal in dignity and resplendency
of paraphernalia to the whitest of
imperial circles. Having backed myself out,
and again edged myself in amongst those who
had the entrée, I became the observed of a
maid of honour. But I had eyes only for
Christophe, and at him I was gazing with a
stare more sailor-like than courtly.
Mademoiselle de Limonade, the brown and lovely
maid of honour, took upon herself to school
me.

" Eh bien, monsieur, comment le trouvez
vous?" which would say— "I hope you will
know him again!"

"How do I find him?" I replied, talking
my English idioms into French words, "For
all the world like Napoleon."

"For all the world!" said Mademoiselle,
with some dignity. "But, Sir, the King is
for himself, and for no one else."

"Pardon," I replied; "is he not for his
people?"

" Oh yes, certainly yes," exclaimed my fair
friend, much delighted, and smiling as she
made a graceful half-curtsey, which has never
been made better in England.

"And I had seen the great Napoleon, then!
How? when? where?" she wished to know.

"It was on board the Bellerophon, at
Plymouth."

"And what was he like?—how was he
dressed?"

"For all the world," I replied, "like his
Majesty— except the boots; because when I
saw him, it was after dinner."

"The deuce!" exclaimed Lady Katharine,
laughing—but that surely was not a "courtly
word—"But you have no mosquitoes then at
Plymouth!"

The lady left me to tell the Queen, as I
supposed, that I was the man there present
who had seen Napoleon. From her Majesty,
she passed to Christophe, and interrupting
a conversation with Sir Home, made to him
some laughing communication—àpropos to
his boots, no doubt—and told her story
perhaps with embellishments, as a glance at
myself and a smile from the King implied.

Breakfast was prepared for us in a spacious
room, and eaten from the most superb English
china. There were two tables, a separate
one—round which was the royal family
assembled—being placed apart from the long
set-out, where the black peers mingled with
their white acquaintances. At the first table
sat the admiral at the king's right hand, with
one or two highly-favoured lords, and as
many ladies in waiting; amongst whom
figured the damsel who had favoured me
with her attention. The entertainment was—
except the Coalbrook Dale breakfast service—
in all respects French. Light wines were
there in profusion, claret of the best, preserved
fruits, and more substantial though at the
same time more mysterious products of
Parisian cookery. Of course, too, there was
delicious coffee.

I sat down between two dukes, whose titles
I failed to catch; though one sounded like
De Bossu, and over him I upset a bowl of
brandy-fruit, in turning quickly to the elbow-
touch of a servant. Great was the discomfiture
of my noble friend, who struggled in
vain to remove the syrup with his doyley,
from velvet cuff and gold embroidery, and
continually muttered, in terms fortunately
unintelligible to me, what I have no doubt were
maledictions on the awkwardness of all
seafaring people. The King soon after this rose
from table, and all followed his example, when
my thickset neighbour De Bossu had to sustain
the stifled laughter and condolence of his
peers—and a great deal more pity from the
peeresses, who gathered round. I was quietly
informed that my friend was a very peppery
man; and, finding all my own endeavours
after peace to be quite vain, I departed,
leaving him among the ladies.

We are apt to laugh at some of the St.
Domingo titles. Let me observe that the
Comte de Limonade was Minister for Foreign
Affairs, and wrote state papers that would
have done credit to a Metternich. These
dukedoms and countships were derived from
extensive districts, containing fine estates of
the same name, and as large as some German
principalities. We did not laugh at Prince
Puckler Muskan when he stepped from his
carriage at Mivart's, covered with orders,
rings, and gold chains. Why laugh at
Limonade, who is not more given to such
puerilities?

Dessalines— prince of cut-throats—having
swept the country of every French soul;
Haïti lay then at the disposal of Christophe.
He did what white men, in like circumstances
have done; gave to his nobles, lands—and
let the commonalty occupy where they might.
He did also what white people have not
always done, instituted colleges, and
established Lancasterian schools over his kingdom.

It was arranged that we were to go to
Sans Souci the next morning—there were
several royal chateaus, and one called "Délices
de la Reine"—but the Sans Souci was the
gem, and at Sans Souci it was proposed that
we should spend a day. Nine or ten carriages
accordingly waited for us at the appointed
hour, each with its noble owner in attendance;
and, into a handsome chariot drawn by six
horses, I stepped with a brother officer.

The vehicle was the production of Long
Acre, and the silver-mounted harness seemed
of modern date. In other respects the set-out
was old French;—the postillions wore long
coats of pink and green, with cocked hats and
tails, and jack boots. They carried enormous
whips; which, however, the brisk looking bays
were not likely to need. The men bowed to
each other, smiled, spoke Jasmin and La
Fleur, caressed their horses, and mounted