nters, he emerges from his obscurity and becomes as great as his
neighbour. For my part, I am convinced that the peace and quietness of
Europe as much depends on the exclusion of such persons from the
councils of diplomacy, as the happiness of every-day life does upon
the breeding and good manners of our associates.

And what straits, to be sure, are they reduced to, to maintain this
absurd intercourse, screwing the last shilling from the budget to pay
a _Charge d'affaires_, with an embroidered coat, and a decoration in
his button-hole.

The most amusing incidents might be culled from such histories, if one
were but disposed to relate them.

Balzac mentions, in one of his novels, the story of a physician who
obtained great practice, merely by sending throughout Paris a
gaudily-dressed footman, who rang at every door, as it were, in search
of his master; so quick were the fellow's movements, so rapid his
transitions, from one part of the city to the other, nobody believed
that a single individual could ever have sufficed for so many calls;
and thus, the impression was, not only that the doctor was greatly
sought after, but that his household was on a splendid footing. The
Emperor of the Brazils seems to have read the story, and profited by
the hint, for while other nations are wasting their thousands in
maintaining a whole corps of diplomacy, he would appear like the
doctor to have only one footman, whom he keeps moving about Europe
without ceasing: thus _The Globe_ tells us one day that the Chevalier
de L----, the Brazilian ambassador, has arrived in London to resume
his diplomatic functions; _The Handelsbad of the Hague_ mentions his
departure from the Dutch Court; _The Allgemeine Zeitung_ announces
the prospect of his arrival at Vienna, and _The Moniteur Parisien_ has
a beautiful article on the prosperity of their relations with Mexico,
under the auspices of the indefatigable Chevalier: "_non regio
terrae_," exempt from his labours. Unlike Sir Boyle Roche, he has
managed to be not only in two, but twenty places at once, and I should
not be in the least surprised to hear of his negotiations for sulphur
at Naples, at the same moment that he was pelting snowballs in Norway.
Whether he travels in a balloon or on the back of a pelican, he is a
wonderful man, and a treasure to his government.

The multiplicity of his duties, and the pressing nature of his
functions, may impart an appearance of haste to his manner, but i