they run him off upon their fingers an unholy
bead-roll—one, two, three, four, up to the
dozen even—all concerning Cette Autr-r-re
Chienne. Most likely he will have purchased
for himself, from a hawker going by, one of
those terrible pamphlets to be had so low as
three sols or three pence—impudently sung
out through the streets—bought up eagerly
by scowling men. They will make him
tremble as he reads, especially if he fall in
with that awful production, entitled, Historical
Essays on the Life of Marie Antoinette,
set down with matchless effrontery as being
printed at Versailles, at the house of La
Monteusier, Hôtel des Courtisanes, or with
that other on the life of the Duke of Orleans,
set down as having come from the printing-
press of Saint James, London. Only conceive
the greedy readers of these foul things, sitting
along those bright boulevards, and lifting
their eyes as the great coach with the Royal
arms emblazoned, went by! But this was
L'an de la liberté Françoise, seventeen
hundred and eighty-nine. Not L'an premier, or
first year, with attendant jargon of Frimaire-
Ventose, and the rest of it, which had as yet
to be thought of.

Terrible times those must have been, and
hugely perplexing for the worthy subject of
Great George our King, then abroad upon
his travels.

Not so long since the writer of this
article, wandering along the Quai Voltaire,
a book-hunting, fell in with a little diamond
almanac and memorandum-book of the date
of this very first year of liberty. It was
clearly belonging to a person of quality, being
done up handsomely in morocco with inside
lining of blue silk, having, besides, bound
with it a copy of that well-known almanac
royal, which no person of quality should then
be without. I do believe that was the last
almanac royal that came out. In despite of
its long term under so many Royal Louis's,
and its full and flowing lists of the great
people who were of the Maison du Roi, and
of His Royal Highness's and Madame's, and
Monsieur's, and of the Bed-chamber folk, and
the Chaplainry, and Grand Mar Lals, and
First Huntsmen, and Prickers, and the rest
of that rotten sham. In despite of it all, I
think I suspect it died out that year of
liberty.

Well, taking it then that this belonged to
persons of quality, it is very strange indeed,
to run the eye down the calendar where it
will find certain days marked with crosses—
red letter days—and then to turn to the
memoranda for explanation. These prove to
have been so many days of distinction—being
august evening parties at Versailles—
chronicled with pride. On the eighth of May
there seems to have been an Assemblée
Mineur at that palace. On the twenty-
second a large one, and on the twenty-sixth
a reception at the Archbishop's house. Then
are set down the stages of a little tour in the
provinces—answer from M. Caffarique of
Calais, and return to the capital on the
sixteenth of June. In the mean time the
person of quality is attracted by the political
discussion of the time, and, on the eighteenth
of May, sets down a mem: "look into
Contract social." He has also time to think of a
wonderful invention, just out, entitled. Plumes
tachegraphiques, and is plainly bitten by
the Anglomania, for he makes another mem:
of one M. Franchant, traiteur à L'Anglaise,
who resides in the Rue de Notre Dame. Poor
Cook after the English! what befel him and
his cookery in other wild scenes that fol-
lowed? Then an entry, concerning one
Mademoiselle Curchod, living in one thousand
seven hundred and sixty-three, it says, iu the
city of Ayre, near to Geneva—sounds someway
connected with Edward Gibbon, Esquire;
then mere setting down of a distinguished
name with a huge asterisk—no other than
that of Duc de Montbazon. Then, in
pencil, a hasty ill-written burst of loyalty:
"Vive Louis Seize, Père des François et
Roy d'un Peuple Libre! " Poor, ardent
Constitutionalist! writing down that afterdinner
sentiment full of sanguine hopes and
dreams of a golden age! Diarist, whoever
he was (at the close there is signed in red
letters the name of Target, advocate, who
defended Louis hereafter) saw not what was
coming, being busy with his august
Versailles receptions, and sham English cookery.
He might, after all, have had a dim suspicion
of what was coming. For he soon sets down
"that he has sent on his mails to London."
Doctor John Zeluco Moore was abroad about
that time, and walking about those fair Paris
streets. That heavy personage and immortal
toady had finished his tour in company with
his Grace, and was now among the French,
takin' notes hereafter to be prented. His
most noble Douglas, Duke of Hamilton and
Brandon, Marquis of Douglas, &c. &c., had
been left safely at home, having driven that
noble chaise of his (with a place inside, kept
for the travelling physician) from court to
court, and seen every margrave and elector
under the sun. The D———of H———, as the
Doctor mysteriously puts it, was made much
of at all the little German towns. Their
Serene Highnesses having him up to tea now
and again to take a hand of cards with her
Serene Highness. Of course the Doctor
contrived to be let in under the wing of my noble
patron the D———of H———, and looked on
from afar off at the tea and cards. All the
while, of course, takin' those famous notes
which are now in prent, making up the five
slim volumes constituting the View of Society
and Manners. But on this second occasion,
when the most noble Douglas, Duke of———,
&c. &c., had had sufficient travel, what was to
be done? Providence fortunately turned up
my Lord of Lauderdale, then Paris bound,
and wanting a chaise-companion; and Doctor
John was taken up the regular beaten road