is place, and a seat was assigned to Polidamor at the upper and
privileged end of the board. Astonished, or rather stupefied at the
strange circumstances of his adventure, he would willingly have abstained
from taking any part in the repast; but he was compelled to make a show of
eating, in order to dissemble his mistrust and agitation. When the supper
was ended and the tables were removed, one of the gentlemen who had
assisted in his capture accosted him with polite expressions of regret at
his want of appetite. During the interchange of courtesies which ensued,
one of the bandits took a lute, another a viol, and the party began to
amuse themselves with music. The advocate was then invited to walk into a
neighboring room, where he perceived a considerable number of mantles
ranged in order. He was desired to select his own, and to count out the
thirty pistoles agreed upon, together with one for coach-hire, and one
more for his share of the reckoning at supper. Polidamor, who had been
apprehensive that the drama of which his mantle had been the occasion
might have a very different _denouement_, was but too well pleased to be
quit at such a cost, and he took leave of the assembly with unfeigned
expressions of gratitude. The carriage was called, and before entering it
he was again blindfolded; his former conductors returned with him to the
spot where he had been seized, where, removing the bandage from his eyes,
they allowed him to alight, presenting him at the same moment with a
ticket sealed with green wax, and having these words inscribed in large
letters, _"Freed by the Great Band_." This ticket was a passport securing
his mantle, purse, and person against all further assaults. Hastening to
regain his residence with all speed, he was assailed at a narrow turning
by three other rascals, who demanded his purse or his life. The advocate
drew his ticket from his pocket, though he had no great faith in it as a
preservative, and presented it to the thieves. One of them, provided with
a dark lantern, read it, returned it, and recommended him to make haste
home, where he at last arrived in safety.

Early in the seventeenth century the Parisian rogues availed themselves of
the regulations against the use of snuff to pillage the snuff-takers. As
the sale of this article was forbidden by law to any but grocers and
apothecaries, and as even they could only retail it to persons provided
with the certificate of a medical man, the anno