its eyes solely when some new explosion shook it from its slumber.

My position, too, was a matchless school for the learner in diplomacy.
France shaped the politics of the Continent; and I was present in the
furnace where the casting was performed. France was the stage to which
every eye in Europe was turned, whether for comedy or tragedy; and I was
behind the scenes. But the change was at hand.

One night I found an individual, of a very marked appearance, waiting for
me at my hotel. His countenance was evidently Jewish, and he introduced
himself as one of the secret police of the ministry. The man handed me a
letter--it was from Mordecai, and directed to be given with the utmost
secrecy. It was in his usual succinct and rapid style.

"I write this in the midst of a tumult of business. My friend Mendoza will
give you such knowledge and assistance as may be necessary. France is on
the point of an explosion. Every thing is prepared. It is impossible that
it can be delayed above a week or two, and the only origin of the delay is
in the determination to make the overthrow final. Acquaint your English
officials with this. The monarchy of the Bourbons has signed its
death-warrant. By suffering a legislature to be formed by the votes of the
mere multitude, it has put property within the power of all beggars; rank
has been left at the mercy of the rabble; and the church has been
sacrificed to please a faction. Thus the true pillars of society have been
cut away; and the throne is left in the air. Mendoza will tell you more.
The train is already laid. A letter from a confidential agent tells us
that the day is fixed. At all events, avoid the mine. There is no pleasure
in being blown up, even in company with kings."

A postscript briefly told me--that his daughter sent her recollections;
that Clotilde was still indisposed; La Fontaine giddier than ever; and, as
the proof of his own confidence in his views, that he had just sold out
100,000 three per cent consols.

My first visit next morning was to the British embassy. But the ambassador
was absent in the country, and the functionary who had been left in charge
was taking lessons on the guitar, and extremely unwilling to be disturbed
by matters comparatively so trifling as the fate of dynasties. I explained,
but explained in vain. The hour was at hand when his horses were to be at
the door for a ride in the Bois de Boulogne. I recommended a ride after
the ambassador. It was