a messenger to the resident magistrate,
whose first question was, whether the
Ambassador had come to any understanding
beforehand? The Duke said he had not.
The magistrate gave it as his opinion that
the bill was a great deal too much, but the
host returned that he had a right to charge
what he pleased, and this being the law in
Holland, in cases where no previous
stipulation is made, the Duke was cast. He
would not give in, however, until he had
appealed to the Dutch government, but their
High Mightinesses sided with the inn-keeper,
and M. de ia Vauguyon was obliged to pay
the bill. He thereupon made a representation
to his own government, who " made a
note of it." Some time afterwards, the
Dutch ambassador in Paris, proposed to
some friends to give them a dinner at La
Rapée—-where the eels were famous—-and, as
was the recognised custom then, supplied
the remainder of the banquet himself, with
cook and servants, as M. de la Vauguyon
had done at Schevening: forgetting like him
to make a bargain. Of course, the same
thing happened with respect to this bill: it
came to exactly three thousand francs (an
hundred and twenty pounds). Although a
Dutchman, M. de Berkenroode got into a
rage, stormed at the host, and stormed in
vain; he was told that an arbitrary charge
was, under certain circumstances, the law in
France. The Ambassador cooled down in
a moment: he recollected the affair of
Schevening, on which he had formerly
made merry: and turning round observed
to one of his friends, " I understand I must
pay for the 'watervisch' of Monsieur de la
Vauguyon!"

It was a curious feature in the manners of
the French a century ago, how much, with all
their pride, the people of rank frequented the
same places of amusement as the lower
orders. Even the ladies visited the guingettes.
One of the most remarkable parties
of this kind that has been recorded,
is that which was made at a cabaret at
Chaillot, called La Maison Rouge (The
Red House), where were assembled half-a-
dozen of the greatest beauties and strong-
minded women, disciples of the new philosophy.
Their names were, Madame de Boufflers,
Madame du Châtelet, Madame de la
Popeliniere, and the Marchionesses de Mailly,
de Gouvernet and Dudeffant. The Memoirs
of Longchamps, who had at that time just
entered the service of Madame du Châtelet,
give one strange ideas of the notions of
propriety which these ladies must have
entertained. His description need not be quoted
in detail, but when he tells us that they
treated their male-servants as if they had
been mere automata, the freedom of their
manners may be imagined. " I am sure,"
he says, " that my individuality was of no
more account in their eyes than the kettle
which I held in my hand." And he adds:
"They must have amused themselves at a
great rate, for we heard them laughing and
singing all the night; indeed, they did not
leave the cabaret till five o'clock in the morning."
Nice ladies, and nice times! Was it
wonderful that there should have been a
revolution!

The last cabaret of which I have to
speak is, that which has been emphatically
called " Le dernier Cabaret." It was
kept by La Mère Saguet, the " Madame
Gregoire" of one of Béranger's songs, and
served as the literary and artistic focus for
the generation now fast disappearing. It
was established in the year seventeen
hundred and eighty-four, in the Rue du Mou
lin-de Beurre, close to the barrier du Maine,
on the south side of Paris. Its celebrity
began under the Empire, but its culminating
fame was under the Restoration, when the
sculptor David, the poet Victor Hugo, the
painter Deveria, the journalist Thiers, the
novelist Dumas, the politician Armand Carrel,
and a list of artists and men of letters, including
Charlet, Romieu, Tony Johannot, Reffet,
Gavarni, and Fontan, were its habitual
frequenters. There was one odd fellow among
them, a hard-drinking sign-painter, who
chiefly evinced his talents in painting
bunches of grapes over the doors of the
wine-sellers of Paris and the suburbs. It
was he who had decorated the cabaret of the
Mère Saguet, both within and without, and
there his gay companions received the news
of his death from the lips of the caricaturist
Charlet. It was a cruel moment for the
jovial crew, but they paid the poor sign-
painter the only honour they had it in their
power to offer; they clubbed verses for his
epitaph, the greatest number of rhymes being
furnished by Victor Hugo. That the strain
in which they were written was not a very
sad one may be supposed, if the opening lines
be taken as a sample. They ran thus:

"Tu nous as fait trop rire dans la vie,
Pour qu' à la mort on pense à la pleurer."

(You have made us laugh too much in your
life-time to allow us to think of weeping at
death). Couplet after couplet was added
until the funeral hymn was completed; it
was then set to music on the spot, and the
illustrious Collinet accompanied the air on
his flute.

But the year eighteen hundred and thirty
came, dispersing the boon companions to
find their places in the world—-most of them
high ones—-and la Mère Saguet no longer
taking a pride in her cabaret relinquished it
to the Sieur Bourdon, and withdrew to a
small pavilion at the bottom of the garden
where, only three years ago, she was still
living, a hale old woman, who every year, on
her birthday, returned to the cabaret, took
her place behind the counter, looked after
the cooking, and stirred the pot (" remuait
la castrolle," so she called it), with all the