cting the rapid working of those changes. Old families sinking into
decay and neglect--time-honoured titles regarded as things that "once
were." Their very homes, the palaces, associated with incidents of deep
historic interests, converted into hotels or "_Pensionnats_."

The very last time I strolled through Paris, I loitered to the
"_Quartier_" which, in my young ambition, I regarded with all the
reverence the pilgrim yields to Mecca. I remembered the first "_soiree_"
in which I was presented, having dined at the Embassy, and being taken
in the evening, by the Ambassador, that I might be introduced to the
Machiavel of his craft, Prince Talleyrand. Even yet I feel the hot blush
which mantled in my cheek as I was passing, with very scant ceremony,
the round-shouldered little old man who stood in the very doorway,
his wide black coat, far too large for his figure, and his white hair,
trimly brushed back from his massive temples.

It did not need the warning voice of my introducer, hastily calling my
name, to make my sense of shame a perfect agony. "Monsieur Templeton,
Monsieur le Prince," said the Ambassador; "the young gentleman of whom
I spoke;" and he added, in a tone inaudible to me, something about my
career and some mention of my relatives.

"Oh, yes!" said the Prince, smiling graciously, "I am aware how
'connexion,' as you call it, operates in England; but permit me,
Monsieur," said he, turning towards me, "to give one small piece of
advice. It is this: 'If you can win by cards never score the honours.'"
The precept had little influence on himself, however. No man ever paid
greater deference to the distinctions of rank, or conceded more to
the prestige of an ancient name. Neither a general, an orator, nor an
author--not even the leader of a faction--this astonishing man stood
alone, in the resources of his fertile intellect, directing events,
which he appeared to follow, and availing himself of resources which he
had stored up for emergency; but so artfully, that they seemed to arise
out of the natural current of events. Never disconcerted or abashed--not
once thrown off his balance--not more calmly dignified when he stood
beside Napoleon at Erfurth, then master of Europe itself, than he was at
the Congress of Vienna, when the defeat of France had placed her at the
mercy of her enemies.

It was in this same house, in the Rue Saint Florentin, that the Emperor
Alexander lived when the Allies entered Paris, on the