alone to see a man whom he knew nothing
of in a furnished apartment."

All to whom the lives of celebrated criminals
are familiar, must have heard of the
robber Cartouche. He had, as may be
supposed, no private residence of his own in
Paris, preferring this or that cabaret, where
the tavern-keeper and himself had business-
relations. The police, arriving at a knowledge
of his movements, laid a plot to catch
him, which at last succeeded. On the night
of the twentieth of October, seventeen
hundred and twenty-one, he went to a cabaret
in the quarter of Courtille, called La Haute
Borne (the high boundary-stone), which
was kept by one Master Germain Saward,
and, after giving the pass-word, " Are there
four women?" (Y a-t-il quatre femmes? ), was
admitted, ate his supper, and went to bed,—-
with six loaded pistols on the night-table
beside him. The police, who were in league
with the tavern-keeper, remained concealed
until they thought Cartouche was asleep,
when they entered his room, and seized him
before he was able to defend himself, or his
resistance would have been desperate. At
his trial, which occupied some time, he
revealed the name of a number of his
accomplices, the keepers of cabarets, the principal
being two brothers named Liard, who, in
spite of the poverty-stricken appellation,
were worth at least fifty thousand crowns
each,—-the whole of it acquired by fraud and
robbery, and connivance in crime.

The cabarets in the suburbs of Paris, a
hundred years ago, were more dangerous
even than the taverns in the heart of the
city. At the head of one of the bands of
robbers that infested the environs of
Belleville, was the son of an innkeeper of that
place, whose place of concealment was in the
adjacent quarries. It chanced, in the year
seventeen hundred and sixty-three, that a
citizen of Paris, with his wife and daughter,
were robbed one day by two of this band.
Returning sadly homeward, they stopped at a
road-side inn to ask for some refreshment,
and while it was being prepared, two young
men entered the house. The citizen looking
round, saw them, and exclaimed, " Ah, there
are the fellows who robbed us! " In one of
them, the innkeeper recognised his own son;
in the other, the son of a neighbour. At the
citizen's exclamation, up started three or
four archers of the police, who were drinking
at the cabaret, and arrested them on the
spot.

Dulaure tells rather an amusing story of a
certain innkeeper of Paris, named Blanchard,
who kept the Hôtel d'Yorck, in the time of
Louis the Fifteenth. A celebrated figurante
of the opera, La Grandi, had received from
her lover, who was a Polish nobleman, a
carriage and horses amongst his numerous
gifts. This equipage had not been paid for,
and Blanchard, who had trusted the Pole,
was desirous of getting it back again. He
accordingly waited upon Mademoiselle
Grandi, and she, fancying he came to ask her
some favour, put on all the airs of a fine lady,
and began to find fault with the horses.
Blanchard most respectfully assured her that
they were the finest in Paris, and to prove it,
offered to drive her himself to Longchamps,
if she would allow him. The lady consented,
and when they reached the boulevards, the
horses began to caper at such a rate, that
Blanchard advised Mademoiselle Grandi,
whose nerves were delicate, to get out of the
carriage until he had quieted them. She
fell at once into the snare. No sooner had
her foot touched the ground, than Blanchard,
laying on the whip, galloped off to his own
stables, and left the lady to walk home how
she could.

Ramponneau is the name of a tavernkeeper
of Paris, who in the year seventeen hundred
and sixty, was, the talk of all the world, on
account of an affair in which Voltaire
amusingly interposed. In conformity with the
Horatian precept, Ramponneau, who had
been very successful as an aubergiste, was
not content with the reputation which had
made him so popular in his own quarter of
the town that the women wore ribbons called
after his name, but desired to change his
profession and become an actor. He was a
fellow who by his jokes and grimaces, and
tavernkeeper's assurance, was wont to keep
his guests in a roar of laughter. Hearing
a good deal about the burlesque actor
Volange, who at that time entertained the town,
he fancied he had talents at least equal to
Volange's, and resolved to put his opinion to
the proof. On the Boulevard of the Temple
there dwelt, just then, a certain Master
Gaudon, who gave a kind of theatrical
representation every evening, which was very much
in vogue. The demand for "great talent"
was then, as now, an object which managers
of all degrees were anxious to meet; and
Master Gaudon thought he could make no
arrangement more profitable than that of
listening to a proposal made to him by the
Sieur Ramponneau to bring him out as the
star of the day. They accordingly entered
into a mutual treaty, Ramponneau
undertaking to play for the behoof of Master
Gaudon, who was to advertise his appearance,
cause his portrait at full length to be
displayed outside his booth or place of
representation, and prepare the necessary songs
and entertainments during an engagement
which was to last for two months and a half,
from the fourteenth of April to the tnwenty-
eighth of June. For the services of
Ramponneau, Master Gaudon stipulated to give
four hundred livres, half of which was to be
paid a week after his appearance, and the
other half at the end of five weeks; and in
addition to this salary, the Sieur Ramponneau,
in consideration of the vast amount of
theatrical ability with which he was supposed
to be endowed—-was to share the profits of