eys, in due form, to the commissionaire of police,
and directed them to be sent after us to our hotel. A commissionaire, so
they call themselves, appeared in the morning with the keys, which he
handed us bowing, adding that all was right.

There was a fete at Boulogne. Nothing was to be seen but glittering
bayonets, and nothing to be heard but the harsh monotonous sound of the
drum. Flags floated in the breeze, and cheers echoed from the distant
hills, and everything proclaimed the festivity of liberty. It was a
grand sight, and yet a sad one for me. I could not help contrasting with
the scene before me the fate of my own unfortunate country. At ten
o'clock we were on our way to Paris.

Such was the anxiety with which I gazed on the glad face of that sunny
land during the entire of the journey that I could at this moment
recognise every object that attracted my attention. But the scope of
this narrative, now drawing rapidly to a close, does not embrace a
description of France or Paris. Many pens have plied the task, and were
mine more adequate than any, it were unfit to interweave so bright a
theme with the gloomy details of this mournful history.

There remains to be told but one incident. On our arrival at the Paris
terminus, we got into an English omnibus which brought us to an English
hotel--the Hotel de Louvre in the Rue St. Thomas. There we dined
together, some dozen or so of the passengers. After dinner my friend
and I had champagne. While discussing its merits the conversation turned
on Ireland. Opinions, of course, varied. Mine, it need scarcely be
added, to an Englishman's ear sounded bloodily, and I urged them with
the vehemence of baffled hope. An old English gentleman of that quiet
school which affects liberality and moderation, but entertains deepest
animosity, deprecated the violence of my language and sentiments, and
expressed his painful astonishment at hearing such opinions from the
mouth of a clergyman; "They would not be unbecoming," added he, with
great bitterness of tone, "in that sanguinary brigand, Doheny."
Involuntarily and simultaneously my friend and myself burst into an
immoderate fit of laughter, The gentleman could not at all comprehend
our mirth. He had, he thought, delivered himself of very sound and very
gentlemanly philosophy, and he was really shocked to find it had made an
impression so different from what he had expected. He had travelled
much, he said, and met men of many lands, o