adly, and I would request that T------, our
kind host, would take upon him to read it aloud for us."

Lord T------ was only too much flattered by the proposal, and the
Prince retired to fetch his papers, leaving the company amazed at the
singularity of a scene which so little accorded with all they had ever
heard of the deep and wily Minister; some of the shrewdest persons
significantly observing, that the Prince was evidently verging on those
years when vanity of every kind meets fewest obstacles to its display.

"Here are my papers, my Lord," said the Prince, entering with his
manuscript. "I have only to hope that they may afford to the honourable
company any portion of the amusement their composition has given me."

The party seated themselves round the room, and Lord T------, disposing
the papers on the table before him, arranged the candles, and prepared
to begin. "The title of the piece is missing," said he, after a pause.

"Oh, no, my Lord; you'll find it on the envelope," replied Talleyrand.

"Ah, very true; here it is!--'Secret Correspondence'------" Lord T------
stopped--his hands trembled--the blood left his face--and he leaned back
in his chair almost fainting.

"You are not ill!--are you ill?" broke from many voices together.

"No; not in the least," said he, endeavouring to smile; "but the Prince
has been practising a bit of 'plaisanterie' on me, which I own has
astounded me."

"Won't you read it, my Lord; or shall I explain?"

"Oh, Monsieur le Prince," said Lord T------, crushing the papers into
his pocket, "I think you may be satisfied;" and with this, to the
company, very mysterious excuse, his Lordship abruptly retired; while
Talleyrand almost immediately set out for London.

The nature of the mystification was not disclosed till long afterwards;
and it is but justice to both parties to say, not by Talleyrand, but by
Lord T------ himself.

With what facility men, whose whole daily life is artifice, can be
imposed on, is a very remarkable feature in all these cases. The
practice of deceit would actually appear to obstruct clear-sightedness
and dull the ordinary exercise of common sense. Witness that poor Dutch
ambassador Fabricius, who, a few years ago, was imposed on at Paris by
Bouffe, the comedian, representing himself to be the first Secretary of
the Minister for Foreign Affairs, and offering, for a sum of money, to
confide to him the secret negotiations between M. Guizot and the Belgian