heir secret Diplomatic Affairs. The best of it is, that
when the two Parties who wish to correspond have once settled where the
incisions are to be, and have each gotten their _grille_, or Peephole
Vellum, no human being can, under ten thousand combinations of letters,
and years of toilsome labour, decipher what is meant to be expressed, or
Weed out the few Words of Meaning from the mass of surrounding Rubbish.

I bade his Eminence farewell, having the honour to be admitted to his
_petit lever_, the felicity to kiss his hand and receive his
Benediction, and the distinction of being conducted down the Back Stairs
by his Maitre d'Hotel, and let out by a Side Door in the Garden-wall of
his Mansion. A close Chariot took me one morning in the Spring of '58 to
the Barriere de Lyon, and there I found a Chaise and Post-horses, and
was soon on my road to the South, with three hundred Louis in Gold in my
Valise, and a Letter of Credit for any sum under five hundred at a time,
I liked to draw, in my Waist-belt. I was Richer in Purse and more
bravely Dressed than ever I had been in my life, and travelled under the
name of the Chevalier Escarbotin; but I was a Spy, and in mine own eyes
I was the Meanest of the Mean.

A happy Mercurial Temper and cheerful Flow of Spirits soon, however,
revived within me; and, ere Ten Leagues of my Journey were over, the
Chevalier Escarbotin became once more to himself Jack Dangerous. "I will
work the Mine of my Manhood," I cried out in the Chaise, "to the last
Vein of the Ore. _Vive la Joie!_" Yet in my innermost heart did I wish
myself once more with Captain Blokes as the daring Supercargo of the
dear old _Marquis_, or else a Peaceful Merchant at Amsterdam, giving
good advice to the Rogues and Sluts in the Rasphuys. O Mr.
Vandepeereboom, Mr. Vandepeereboom!

Six days after my departure from Paris, I embarked from Marseille on
board a Tartane bound for Genoa. We had fine sailing for about three
days, till by contrary winds we were driven into San Remo, a pretty
Seaport belonging to the Genoese. This abounds so much with Oranges,
Lemons, and other Delicious Fruit, that it is called the Paradise of
Italy. So on to Genoa, where the Beggars live in Palaces cheek by jowl
with the Nobles, who are well-nigh as beggarly as they; and the Houses
are as lofty as any in Europe, and the Streets between them as dark and
narrow as Adam and Eve Court in the Strand. The Suburb called San Pietro
d'Arena very pretty,