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INTRODUCTION.

PERHAPS I ought not to say,– lest I should be set down as “a liberal,” “ a jacobin,” “a Napoleonist," "a discontented man," and what not,—that I have just read a little book, which the French government very wisely endeavours to keep out of the hands of its restless and fickle subjects. The work is, in fact, subversive of every religious principle; and, as such, has my unqualified disapprobation. Thus, then, I perfectly agree with the established

government under whose protection I am happy to live; and having declared the purity and loyalty of my opinions, religious and political,-though

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perfectly distinct, I here bring them together. In conformity to the custom of the times, I shall proceed to say how I was able to meet with the little forbidden volume in question.

A few nights ago, a soirée was given by my family, then living at After dancing a quadrille with Mademoiselle de — I led her to a great marble sideboard, on which a servant happened to have left a tray of refreshments. We sipped a glass of orgeat, and began looking over the books and newspapers that covered the table before us. The English newspaper naturally became the subject of conversation; and, taking it up from amongst the others, the young lady began reading it as follows: “GALIG-NANI'S “ MESS-ENGER—n'est pas que cela veut dire “ Messager de Galignani-is it not true it means 66 that?”

A reply in the affirmative, and a compliment on her cleverness, encouraged her to proceed. “ LONDON; je comprends cela-I 66 understand that; mais que peut donc signifier 66 tout ceci—but what can all this mean? WE AVE

DIS MORENING HAARD REEPORTS-ah, mon Dieu ! comment donc comprendre tout ce gali6 matias -how can one understand all that r nonsense ?" Before I had time to blame

my

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countrymen for speaking so unintelligible a language, the mother of the Demoiselle, a prudent, portly gentlewoman of five and fifty, (or perhaps less, far from me be the wish to slander her,) came up to the sideboard; “ Que fait tu, ma fille? 56 —what are you doing, child ?” she goodnaturedly asked; and seeing the MessenGER in her hands, said she had always wished for her daughter to learn English; and so we entered into a conversation on the possibility of acquiring its pronunciation—no bad subject of doubt, considering the sample we had had. Madame la Baronne de

was, however, a staunch Royalist; and though but one corner of it peeped out from amongst the books and other papers, she immediately recognised and drew forth the AMI DE LA CHARTE, the Opposition journal of that day's date. « Comment ! vous recevez ce journal affreux——what! do you “ take in this frightful paper ?” “ Ce n'est que

trop vrai, Madame—it is, indeed, too true," I insidiously replied. She, nevertheless, soon descended to a meeker and more conciliatory manner, and allowed that some of the Liberals were reasonable people, and were often right in what they maintained: she even went so far as

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to whisper that her own son was tainted with some of their notions..

We now returned to the AMI DE LA CHARTE, and looked over its columns in a less hostile mood. “ Here," said I, pointing to the bottom of a page, “is advertised a work which I have

never been able to meet with: I want to see “ the edition which caused the author to be sent “ to the prison of S. Pelagie, and not these “purified' volumes." Madame la Baronne smiled; but after a deal of probing, and with an air of great mystery, she told me that she believed her son had the true and genuine edition amongst his books; that he had bought it before it had been forbidden by the Police; and that if I would promise to keep it under lock and key, and never mention to any one that she had ever lent it to me, she would entrust me with it the first time I should call at her house.

So eager was I to gain possession of a book, which I had never mentioned to a real or pretended Royalist without seeing his whole features convulsed by an involuntary or affected shuddering of horror, that on the very next morning, at the earliest hour at which a visit could convenablenient be paid, I hastened to the

door of the Baronne, recalled to her the promise she had made me, and departing as soon as I had obtained my end, passed through the nearest gate of the town, turned my back on the sleeping police officer, (half afraid lest he should read guilt on my countenance,) and hastily gained a reighbouring field, in which the garrison of the place usually performed their military exercise. Here, seating myself on the uncovered root of a majestic, spreading walnut tree, I drew from my pocket the precious and fearful volume.

And, in the name of every thing that is fearful, “what is the title, what is the object, what are " are the contents, of this same volume ?” Such is, or at least-considering all the pains I have taken to work upon his curiosity—such ought to be, the question of the inquisitive reader; and I now intend to satisfy his very reasonable impatience.

On taking leave of the Baronne, I had not allowed myself sufficient time to examine it minutely; but nothing now prevented me from giving way to my eager curiosity. I was in the centre of a solitary field, reclining in the broad shade of the walnut tree, and defended by its wide, fresh green leaves, from the heat of an

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