that has come to us from that reign. Had he no
suspicion, this by-and-by bishop, of what was
to come? I suspect he knew the piecrust
character of this repentance. Sardanapalus
gets well (as did the horned gentleman who
would be a monk), grows sulky and moody,
and wears his new penitential dress but ill.
By-and-by he gives a cold cheek to the queen,
and lets her know that her conjugal attentions
are boring him. He returns to Paris to
a populace drunken with joy, and who christen
him the Well-Beloved : and on that very evening
is on his knees before the old sinful shrine !
O good Bishop Fitzjames, not by any degree
too stern ; though exiled through an unworthy
spite, you shall take with you a consciousness
of having done your duty.

This most Christian Sardanapalus was later
induced to show himself at that famous fight at
Fontenoy, where with a dull insensibility he
would keep himself on an exposed hill. It was
the day of the " terrible English column,"
whose " rolling fire," a courtier writes, " was
really infernal;" and of that Irish brigade who
fought so desperately. " It was a glorious
sight," writes another enraptured loyalist, " to
see the king and dauphin writing upon a drum,
surrounded by the conquerors, the conquered,
the dead, and the dying. It was the last
flickering up of anything like spirit in the breast
of Sardanapalus; for he was now to receive
the tap of the pantomime wand, and become a
Right Royal Porker.

Henceforth how shall it be with that poor
France under direction of this courtesan
camarilla? While they were busy with their right of
the Cushion and the Cap, and the presentation of
the Pompadour at court, and such wretched
mummeries, that fair and beautiful country was
falling into frightful disorder. Everything went
wrong—money, trade, morals, fighting on sea
and land—excepting taxes. But the ministry of
the fine ladies could not see beyond the palace
gardens. They had heard, indeed, of labourers
and industrious farmers, who were far down in the
country districts, and made up the population;
but they were not officially cognisant of them.
If there were such in being, let them pay taxes,
and thus tangibly substantiate their existence.
Was not Paris France, and Paris again the
king's palace? Everywhere the national honour
was disgraced. Those heavy moral English
islanders beat their armies, beat their " marine,"
stripped them of those beautiful colonies and
settlements far off in the East. It reads
comically to see how fleet after fleet was fitted
out and sent away, only to be sunk, battered,
and captured by those incorrigible English. The
grand scented Counts with the sonorous names
who commanded, usually fell out amongst each
other; inferior captains appointed by the
ministers, lost the battle to spite superior captains
appointed by the Pompadour; and when the rough
English admirals, the Pococks, Hawkes, and
Kempenfeldts of that school hove in sight in
the offing, the craven courtiers pretended to
mistake the signal, and were seen crowding all
sail in retreat. Crossing to Italy in the
well-appointed vessels which sail from 'Marseilles, we
shall see many of these heroes pointing fiercely
at smoke, and looking down on us from
medallions as we dine. You may be sure the British
lion, as he sips his soup in the saloons, has his
joke at these commodores. Still there was a
brave man or two among them who fought us
ship to ship, and, it must not be concealed, beat
us too. A tout seigneur, tout honneur. Alack !
it was this principle that ruined everything in
France. Seigneurs got it all : there was none
for the brave.

Meantime, royal Louis waxes old, and that
court miasma thickens. We may not lift the
veil which hangs over those later days. Things
come about, not to be named, nor so much as
hinted at. All things become demoralised, and
strange rumours fly abroad. Now, a child or
two has been stolen, and it is said that the
Well-Beloved has been ordered baths of
children's blood. Now, there were mysterious
deaths, suspected poisonings in cups of coffee,
and half a dozen persons of quality die
unaccountably within a week of each other. Now,
it is known that the loose seigneurs send out
press-gangs who range the streets, and carry
off young women. There is no order, no
justice, no morals, no money. No justice,
certainly; else that vile marquis, who stripped
the young girl and gashed her over with a
pen-knife, and filled up the gashes with melted
sealing-wax; and then, flying to his country
seat, collected the young ladies of his village at
a ball, and poisoned them out of pure
devilishness with cantharides pills; otherwise, I say,
this wretch would not have been let off with a
fine of fifty francs. As we approach the end,
horrors accumulate. The pages of the Memoirs
are smeared with hideous spots. Old Heliogabalus,
worn out, use, moody, deaf, not able to
mount his horse without a stool, casting about
with those bleared eyes for some stimulant,
still totters in the centre. Grown now to be
a puppet, he is helpless among them all. He
writes orders for money, and the bearers come
back to him to tell how the treasurer has bade
them go to the devil. " But the king says I am
to be paid." " Well, let him pay you, then!"
Presently Heliogabalus falls sick. Let us hurry
to the end quickly, and get out into the open
air.

There was a pet marquis who fell down dead
at a whist party, who, it was said, would die
exactly six months before the king; an event
which preyed upon the royal Heliogabalus. They
tell how actually before the six months were
out, foul Small-pox came in and seized the old
sinner in his malignant grasp. It was an
appropriate disease. An English physician, named
Sutton, offered his skill, but was kept out until
the last minute by the jealousy of the royal
quacks. Again was the old drama of the
Great Nameless turning monk renewed, and the
bishops and priests sent for. There were to
be the sacraments administered; and again
was the battle of the light lady to be fought