But the Barnard case—you must have heard of that, surely? It was just about the period when the wonderful volunteer fever commenced to rage with such intense earnestness over here; and when our “valuable auxiliary forces”—as amateur military critics in the House are so fond of repeating—were first instituted, in the fear of a second invasion of this sacred realm of liberty. We did not then place much reliance on the “streak of silver sea,” when in the direct face of danger, as a great “statesman” would have us do now that it no longer confronts us! Ha, at last you recollect, eh? I need not prompt your memory any further.

Bien. It was at this period that Monsieur Parole d’Honneur was advised in high official circles that it would be for the benefit of his health if he quitted French soil for awhile. He had been known to have once been intimately associated with Mazzini, and that gentleman was supposed to be implicated in the Orsini affair—when an attempt was made against Napoleon’s life in the Place d’Opera; so, as Parole d’Honneur had likewise been heard to speak rather unguardedly at a political club of patriots to which he belonged, the prefectorial mind “putting that and that together,” very reasonably presumed that our friend must have some connection with the bomb conspirators. The consequences were, that Parole d’Honneur was told to quit Paris instantly, and leave France itself within four-and-twenty hours,—although he was innocent of the slightest knowledge concerning the plot.

However, there was no help for it. Prefects are not in the habit of discussing their suspicions with suspected persons; and thus he had to bid adieu to his country in a hurry. He thereupon shook off its dust from his papier-maché-soled boots, coming to England, in the manner of his compatriots, to earn his livelihood as a teacher of languages.

Having the highest recommendations, he easily obtained as much employment as he wanted, and devoted himself to giving conversational lectures to a circle of collegiate establishments lying in different parts of London, which he visited bi-weekly, or so, in turn. Amongst these was one in our suburb; hence, first an acquaintance and then a lasting friendship sprung up between him and the vicar, both taking to each other immensely through their large-hearted philosophy; thus, too, I also got acquainted with one of the brightest, cheeriest, kindest Gauls of many that I have had the happiness of knowing.

At the time of which I write, Parole d’Honneur was a very happy emigré, despite his enforced exile in the land of fogs. Indeed, he was an 

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