post from Orleans, they laughed heartily at the joke, and enjoyed the
idea that Sophie had been taken in.

The following winter, I went into a café newly established in the Rue
Poissonière, and was agreeably surprised to see Sophie, the
pseudo-princess, sitting behind the counter in magnificent toilette,
receiving the bows and the money of the customers as they passed
before her, whilst M. Jerome--exactly in appearance as before, except
that prosperity had begun to round him--was leaning against a pillar
in rather a melodramatic attitude, a white napkin gracefully depending
from his hand. They started on seeing me, and were a little confused,
but soon laughed over their adventure; called Penelope to take her
turn at the counter--the little serf whispered to me as she passed,
that I was 'a traitor, a barbarian,' and insisted on treating me to my
coffee and my _petit verre_, free, gratis, for nothing.




MEMOIRS OF LORD JEFFREY.


In the crisis of the French Revolution, British society was paralysed
with conservative alarms, and all tendency to liberal opinions, or
even to an advocacy of the most simple and needful reforms, was met
with a ruthless intolerance. In Scotland, there was not a public
meeting for five-and-twenty years. In that night of unreflecting
Toryism, a small band of men, chiefly connected with the law in
Edinburgh, stood out in a profession of Whiggism, to the forfeiture of
all chance of government patronage, and even of much of the confidence