floated through the air.  I leaned forward and
looked in.

"What do you see?" asked the showman.

"I see a large chamber handsomely furnished,
but somewhat time-worn and faded-looking.
There is a lamp on a table at the farther end of
it, and two candles on another table at a
distance. An old lady is working at the table near
the lamp, and a man dressed like an abbé sits
reading by the other. It is a newspaper he
reads, and apparently aloud, too."

"Can't you hear him?" asked the showman,
curtly.

"I declare I do," cried I, in amazement.
"He is reading aloud in French, and I can hear
his voice distinctly." The music by this time
had faded away, and left all in silence as the
abbé read: "To which the Emperor of Austria
replied, 'I will never lend myself to any
combinations against the dynasty of your majesty.' "

"Monsieur de Richecourt, I must entreat you
to stop. I can hear no more," said the old lady,
trembling with emotion. "The words
'majesty' and 'dynasty' are really too much when
applied to 'ça.'"

"And yet, madame, ça took them all
naturally," said the abbé, taking snuff.

"What tumult is that without? what are the
shouts I hear?" cried she.

He opened the window hastily, and as hastily
closed it, but not before a strain of music floated
up from the street beneath with the melody of
Partant pour la Syrie! to which some thousand
deep voices gave chorus.

"It is a regiment of Zouaves, madame," said
he, "returning from Italy."

"Zouaves!" said she, indignantly. " Oh, for
the time when the proudest thing in France was
to be a Frenchman!  It was not by masquerading
like African savages our great kings understood
the chivalry of a soldier's life. What
would Colbert, what would Turenne have said,
if—"

Just as she had uttered thus much, a faint,
oppressive vapour enveloped the scene, which
gradually grew dimmer and dimmer till it faded
away.  I was about to withdraw, when the
showman gently whispered, "Wait, and you will
see more!" and then, with a sudden flash, the
whole scene blazed out, a gorgeous salon in a
palace lit by a thousand tapers, and filled by a
splendid company.  It was a ball at the Tuileries:
the vastness of the room and the decorations
could leave no doubt of the locality.  There
were a number of presentations to be made, and
the persons forming them stood at one side,
awaiting the arrival of his majesty.  The
procession at last approached.  I could recognise
some I knew. The Duc de Bassano, for
instance, very like the pictures of his father; and
then there came the great man himself, walking
with, a sort of stride Charles Kean would
assume, more dramatic than dignified, and scarcely
seeming to notice what went on around him.
At last he stops in front of a lady, who curtseys
low in deep acknowledgment of this royal notice.
She is one who in England had been his host for
years; his evenings had no other home than her
house.  He is, doubtless, not forgetful of the
past, but royalty has its stern limits even in
condescension, and so he simply says, "I am
pleased to see you, madame. Do you purpose
to make some stay in Paris?"

"I am really undecided, your majesty,"
replied she, with faltering diffidence. And then
adds, in a lower tone, "Et vous, Sire, do you?"

"I could show you the clubs," continued
the showman: "the Jockey, where they gamble
—the Impériale, where they bluster—and the
Chemins de Fer, where they gluttonise; I
could show you the Hôtels of the Ministers,
where they revel in splendour, and the Quartier
Saint-Antoine, where they conspire;—but there
is only the same story everywhere: all are waiting
—waiting—for what?  Ay, that is the
question!"

"I don't care to ask," said I. "I have little
sympathy with this people; they talk much of
their nation, but seem to have never understood
its true dignity. Now the Germans—"

"Ah! the Germans," said the showman;
"they are a great people. Look there!"

He opened the little slide again, and I looked
in. There was an ancient chamber, hung round
with armour, in which sat a number of splendidly
attired persons around a table; as my
eye rested, I could see that they were the
sovereigns and princes of the Faderland.  They
seemed to play a sort of round game; at least,
they constantly handed tokens from one to the
other, occasionally disputing, and sometimes
jesting.

"Is it loo?" I whispered to my guide.

"No," said he, "it is a game of their own,
and they never weary of it. What you see passing
from hand to hand are not gold pieces, but
decorations, which they go on chopping and
changing for ever, according to value. Thus,
one Black Eagle is worth ten Badish Crosses;
one Maria Theresa is worth twenty Black Eagles
and a basketful of Nassaus.  As the fortunes of
the world incline, however, these values differ:
thus you see Prussia is now fighting hard to
make his coin pass at an agio."

"And have they nothing better to do than
this?" I asked, scornfully.

"Oh dear, yes; the learned amongst them
collate manuscripts all day long, and there are
full five hundred wise heads disputing whether
Conrad was or was not a Hapsburg."

"And is this the land of Körner, of Schiller,
of Goethe?"

"Ay," said he, sorrowfully,

"Where Braten, beer, and smoke abound,
Where ten per cent, is in demand,
Where Sauerkrout is ever found,
Da ist der Deutscher Faderland!"

"Oh, for mercy's sake!" I cried, " let me see
some country where there is a nobler patriotism
and a higher ambition."

"Ah!" cried the showman, "you want to be
among the olives and the trellised vines."

And lo! there arose before me such a glorious