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he burst into tears and never spoke

more.

The most diligent search was now made to discover the body, but without the slightest success. It was no where to be found; a hat belonging to the deceased was taken up near the river, and the general belief was, that the corpse had been thrown into the river and carried down by the current which is here very rapid. The indignation of all parties who were never kindly disposed to the servant, rose to the greatest height, that he would never acknowledge what had been done with the body, although now no doubt remained upon their mind as to his guilt.

His trial at length came on; and Monsieur S- arrived "special" in Lyons to conduct it. The great principal in English criminal law, that a conviction cannot be held for murder until the body be found, exists not in France; but in lieu of it, they require a chain of circumstantial evidence of the strongest and most convincing

nature.

To discover this where it existed, to fashion it where it did not, were easy to the practised advocate; and the poor prisoner, whose reasoning powers were evidently of the weakest order, and whose intelligence was most limited, offered an easy victim to every subtle question of the lawyer; he fell deeper and deeper into the snare laid for him; he was made to say that though upon the road to Bourdeaux, he knew not why he was there: that the watch and keys in his possession were his master's he acknowledged; but why they were in his keeping he could not tell every hesitation of his manner, every momentary indication of trouble and confusion were turned against him; and even when a fitful gleam of intelligence would shoot across his clouded brain, it was anticipated by his torturer and converted to his injury. The result may be easily guessed; he was condemned to death; and the following morning, as the advocate received at his levee the congratulations of the authorities upon his success and ability, the prisoner was led to the guillotine amid the execration of ten thousand people.

Two years after this trial took place our advocate was passing through Amiens on his way to Peronne. There

was considerable bustle and confusion in the hotel, from an incident which had just occurred, and which shocked all the inmates. A gentleman who had arrived the evening before, having attempted to commit suicide by cutting his throat, and was found two miles from the town upon the high road, where it appeared he had fallen from loss of blood, having walked thus far after his intended crime.

"His name is Lemoine," said some one in the crowd, as they carried him bleeding, and nearly lifeless into the house.

"Lemoine !" said Monsieur S musingly; "the name of the man murdered at Lyons by Jean Labarte."

"And what is most strange," said another, not hearing the muttered observation of Monsieur S- "he is

now perfectly sensible and most penitent for his attempt, which he ascribes to a passing insanity that he has been liable to from a boy; the impulse is first to destroy, then to conceal himself."

"That is indeed singular," said Monsieur S, "but there is no combatting a monomania."

"So the poor man feels, for he has already essayed the same thing several times-in the last he nearly succeeded when living on the Garonne."

"The Garonne Lemoine-" screamed, rather than spoke the advocate-"when-where-the name of the

village?"

"La Hulpe," said the stranger.

The

"Great God, I am a murderer!" said S-, as he fell upon the pavement, the blood streaming from his mouth and nose; they lifted him up at once and carried him into the house; but the shock had been too much. face of the murdered Jean Labarte, as with stupid look, and heavy inexpressive gaze, he stared up from the dock, never left him after; and he passed his remaining days in Charenton a despairing, broken-hearted maniac.

It subsequently came out that poor Labarte, knowing that his master was threatened with an attack, had packed up all he possessed, and set out for Bourdeaux to procure a physician, trusting that from his precaution no mischief could accrue in the meanwhile -one razor was unfortunately forgotten, and gave rise to all the circumstances we have mentioned.

CHAP. V.-THE POLICE AND THE LIVRE NOIR.

How little do we know-most happily for us-in England, by the word police, of what is meant by the same phrase in France? With us a certain mixed and confused notion is formed of sundry old gentlemen called magistrates, presiding in very dusty and pestilential dens, assisted by various emissaries in blue uniform, with enigmatical letters on their collars, engaged in transmitting vagabonds to their parish, and sending artful dodgers to the house of correction, their highest function being a brow-beating committal to the tread-mill, or a panegyric upon their own merciful leniency in pardoning a pickpocket. This, with an occasional dry, judicial jest-for as Mr. Weller would observe, "they have wery nice notions of fun"-constitute at once their duty and delight. Long may they enjoy such pleasing pursuits, say we with all our hearts, and still longer may they live in all practical ignorance of the more complicated engine which our neighbours outre mer have called by the same name-police.

The preventive system which is carried on in France against crime, wonderfully reminds us of the treatment so profitably practised by the late St. John Long upon his patients: taking it always for granted, that there was something wrong in your constitution, he "established a raw" upon your back to get rid of it: if you were afflicted with any malady, then he pronounced the application indispensable to your cure; if you were not, why then the more luck yours. This is precisely what takes place in France; your house may be searched, your papers ransacked, your very pockets scrutinized as evidences of some imputed offence against the laws; and all the satisfaction you get on proving your innocence is "ce'st tant mieux pour vous."

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Read the accounts of the inquisition in Spain, study the records of the Heilige Wehme" in Germany, and I defy you to point out a more iniquitous system in either than that which now exists in the police of many continental countries.

When using the phrase police, we would expressly stipulate that we mean not thereby that lazy and inefficient appanage to every city and town abroad, who, under the direction of the municipal authorities, parade the streets in cocked hats and broad

swords, under the pretence of preserving the peace; but who, upon every occasion of riot or disturbance, are seen flying from the spot with a valour of which discretion is the strongest feature. Bless their hearts, they are as little warlike as a battle-axe guard, or a college porter, and a terror to none except some vagrant urchin who strays from his nurse's guidance to cross a plot in the Tuilleries garden, or {the park in Bruxelles.

No, no-what we mean is very dif ferent, indeed; and as in the Austrian states, there are two species of coinage denominated by the same name florin, one of which is worth about two shillings sterling, and the other eight pence, so on the continent, and pretty much with the same intent, are these two orders of the government called by the one word police. "I can see nothing to grumble at in the police of France," says a newly arrived traveller to a French table d'hote acquaintance, alluding of course to the innocuous tribe we have mentioned. The other eyes him with subtlety, and assents; he himself being an "Agent de la police" in coloured clothes, who dines in public every day, mingling in the conversation, grumbling at the government, condemning the ministry, and enacting a species of foreign Joe Hume to entrap some single-minded and inexperienced traveller into some expression of his opinions, which, if once pronounced unfavourable, or even suspicious, he gets a private hint from the Ministre de la police that he had better have kept his politics for England, and that his passport is waiting for him to leave the country in twenty-four hours. Such, perhaps, is all fair and reasonable; at least there are persons who insist, that as we are only guests in a foreign country, we should rigorously abstain from disturbing the economy of our host's household; and in this we perfectly agree; we only see any thing reprehensible in the means adopted for detecting, in some cases, creating, the expressions complained of.

These secret agents of the police are a large body in a continental state culled from every rank and walk in life, and exercising with this their hidden "metier," different trades, professions, and occupations; sometimes the agent is a mere flaneur," keeping his cab, living at a first-rate hotel, drinking

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champagne every day most ostentatiously at his table d'hote, which, be it observed en passant, is an almost invariable mark of bad taste, rarely practised except by inferior Englishmen, and every Russian calling himself Count, and waited upon by a servant in a grotesque livery of green, gold, scarlet, and blue, which is thought by his master to be strictly English, and " en jockey."

This person is usually accredited by certain introductions, and obtains a kind of a half admission into society, where he at once, by the instinct of his caste, singles out his victims, cheats them at play for his own amusement, and entraps them in politics for that of his government.

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This is a very frequent species of the tribe; but there is no trade nor calling that he may not profess; he is a newspaper editor, a Jew moneylender, the croupier at a gamblinghouse, the conducteur of a diligence, and perhaps most frequently of all the spy of the government is the danseuse at the opera.

It is said by those who know or should know these metters well, that there is scarcely a figurante in the ballet that is not salaried by the police. Whether this be so or not we cannot affirm; but an anecdote we have heard of one of that class greatly disposes us to speak with all leniency of them.

It was during the empire that the General G., chef de division, and aidde-camp to Napoleon, became sus pected of carrying on an intrigue with Austria. Fouché had long watched him, but without obtaining the least clue which might establish his suspicions. The general was a Saxon of grave and retired habits, mixing little in society, and having but few intimates, therefore there was great difficulty in securing his confidence. It was observed, however, that a little Saxon girl that danced at the ballet at the opera attracted much of his attention; she was at once brought forward, and being instructed in her part, was told how to interest the general in her behalf by the ties of "Faterland," so strong with every German. The plan succeeded, and she became his mistress. Napoleon, who had watched the progress of the intrigue with some impatience, at once expected the fruits and was greatly disappointed at not immediately obtaining the information he desired. The deliberate caution of Fouché wearied and disgusted him,

and tired of suspecting a man he saw daily about his person, he dismissed him abruptly from his staff, and ordered him to leave Paris in forty hours.

The general, who had no conception of the snares by which he was surrounded, was horror-struck at the news, but at once prepared to set out, and proceeded to take leave of his friends. Great was he surprised to find that by no one was his misfortune more felt than by Stephanie, who at once resolved to accompany him into exile, and share his lowered fortune wherever he went. This from one of her class was a sacrifice he never looked for; and amid all his affliction comforted and sustained him. That night they set out for Geneva.

This was the moment that Fouché had long looked forward to, when, in disgrace and exile, separated from his friends, removed from all observation, the general would surely betray himself if he were really guilty, and with this intention Stephanie was engaged to accompany him to watch all his movements, observe his very slightest expressions, and report by every post to the minister the events of each day; for months long Stephanie had little else to tell than that the general spent whole days in his study writing, that he saw no one, and that he left the house rarely at all.

Fouché himself at last, grown weary of the slow progress of discovery, and the time being at hand at which it could alone prove valuable, determined upon a last great effort; he wrote to Stephanie himself, inclosing her a pacquet of keys, by which any lock could be opened, desired her to secure all the general's papers and letters, and start for Paris immediately; to stimulate her zeal he also sent a long promised, and by her eagerly desired present, "a diamond aigrette" of the value of three thousand francs. Think of the feelings of the poor danseuse as she looked upon her prize. What were all the false glitter of the gems of the "property room" when compared with the rich lustre of the oriental stone. She placed it before her, and as she gazed, thought over in her mind the triumph such a possession would ensure her over her less favoured rivals; she placed it upon her bosom and felt her heart beat more proudly beneath; her cheek glowed, her eyes filled with tears of delight, then suddenly growing pale as death she paused for a moment, and snatching up the etui and the letter

she ran to the chamber where the general was writing, burst open his door, and holding out the packet in her hand, fell senseless and fainting at his feet.

That same post brought a letter from the general to the minister of war demanding his "retraite ;" and the week after saw him on his way to Dresden, with his wife, for he had married Stephane, where he has ever since lived in a happy retirement.

placed beside the short and stunning annals of crime and misery, vice, misfortune, and condemnation that dreadful book could lay bare?

The Livre Noir is the registry of the lives of criminals, from the cradle to the grave-from the child conceived in sin to the suicide taken in the "feiéts de St. Cloud," or exposed upon the table at la Morgue. His every incident is there-from his first step in iniquity to his second-from his early chastisement to his severer punishment -from the trifling offence to the graver crime, all is registered; and his foottrack can be traced as he went on from the penitentiary to the prisonfrom the prison to the gallies-from the gallies to the guillotine; or suppose repentance to have seized him, and that he resolve to "sin no more"-it matters not. The deed which perhaps rashness or poverty suggested, is stamped indelibly upon the inexorable page; and the brand upon his brow bears no more damning evidence of his crime than four brief lines of a pen. Conceive, if you can, any thing more horrible than this. Fiction cannot exaggerate-imagination cannot exceed it; and yet in the city, where it is boasted civilization holds paramount sway, this still exists. But the mischief ends not here. All are inscribed herein-natives, strangers, the sojourner for a week, the passer through for a day-their every action, their intentions, their plans. Walk if you will, with a port erect and bosom high, proud in your personal liberty, but Let us now turn to another feature not a stir you give, not a whisper you of this state engine. And here we breathe, but is noted and chronicled would ask a question of you-Have here, to be referred to and brought you ever heard of the "LIVRE NOIR?" forward whenever suspicion may attach We might almost anticipate your an- to you. Then is the page turned to swer. Few of even the travelled--the finger points to the passage, scarcely any of those who have not travelled-know of its existence. Let us, then, explain.

The idea of that imperium in imperio -a police within a police-originated with Fouché, who selected for his agents men of high families but ruined fortunes. The description which Sallust has given us of Cataline can alone convey a just idea of the bribery by which men were seduced from the path of honour and virtue to crime and infamy. Was a young man ruined at play, his resource was ready the alternative to suicide was to sell himself to Fouché-was a rich man bankrupt in a great speculation, Fouché would engage him were any man's tastes and habits more costly than his means to procure them, an occasional interview with the minister of policea conversation he had listened to repeated a private letter shown, and his credit rose once more at his bankers. From the prince to the beggar there was no safety. The guest at your table-the servant behind your chair, were frequently but spies upon your conduct.

In the bureau of the secret police, guarded from all human eyes but those of the minister himself or his deputé, in whose charge it is, lies a massive and padlocked volume, whose contents, if known, would thrill the blood and pale the cheek of even the most pampered votary of romance. What would be all the horrors of Balsac, or Victor Hugo, or Hoffman, or Maturin, when compared with the narratives writ upon those pages? What all the highly wrought and much laboured stories which human talent or genius have ever devised and planned, when

and your condemnation follows. The peace, the fortune, the honour of the first houses in France are dependent upon the secresy of these pages-to open it were to spread a civil war through the land.

Let us draw from the store of one

of the cleverest tale writers of the day some of the extracts by which he illustrates this terrific volume, which will convey a clearer notion of it than any description, however laboured:

"La Comptesse D'Abeille, in every society; deep in the Greek loan, and several companies of insurance; has issued six hundred thousand francs of false money' protected by Prince S

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Aygimaine, chief of an emigré club, who pass all their evenings since '92 in devising 'infernal machines; they are twenty-eight in number, of whom fourteen are agents of the police; not worth the cost of the superintendence.

Beigh, a foreigner who counterfeits perfectly the air, look, and attitude of Napoleon; he affects to have made his escape from St. Helena, and is now organising a conspiracy among the students; he derives his means from the police; but as being a stranger, he requires watching; the

duty is performed by a false Dauphine, whom he watches in his turn; thus the two aspirants for the crown are mutual spies on each other.

"Camille, seduced at sixteen; Maquise at eighteen; at twenty died at the Bicetre.

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Catherine, sirnamed the prettyarmed, seduced at twelve; crowned the 'rosiere' at fifteen; died at Poisy at twenty-five, in the Maison de force.,

"Celeste (the_prude') 'sold by her mother to an Englishman; changed afterwards for an Irish horse; now dame de Compagnie at Frescati, and a baronne.

"Carl Bac, the printer of 'Les Gueux'-his press concealed in an arch of the Pont de Jena; the papers in a pump at the Isle de Louviers; now printing a song against M. Mole, written by the prefect of the police; wait till June, and then condemn him to the Bagnes de Brest."

Such is the "LIVRE NOIR" of the French capital. Long may it be the only city where such a record is found.

CHAP. VI.-ENGLISH MINISTERS ABROAD-TRAVEllers and tOURISTS.

WITH your good permission, my dear reader, we shall leave Paris for the present. The sun upon the Boulevards this morning reminded us of Jamaica; the ices at the Cafè de Paris are at 30 degrees of Raumaur; the theatres are like ovens; the restaurants like furnaces there is, therefore, no time to be lost ere we get on the road.

science aver, that a more pains-taking, long-suffering class does not exist. It may seem at first a little strange, that I should thus characterize men whose most ostensible duties would appear to be the possession of some thousands per annum, and a very enviable position in socie; but then please to recollect for a moment the annoyances and disagremens to which they are daily, hourly, and half-hourly subjected during the entire six months of every year, when England pours forth upon the continent its myriads of tourists and travellers. The impertinent curiosity of some, the offensive and pushing vulgarity of others, the troublesome selfishness of all, have but one rest, or one outlet-the British Ambassador. He, poor man, is a kind of safety valve for every imaginable explosion. If the traveller, utterly ignorant as he in nine cases out of ten is, of the language of the country he travels in, lose his way, or his portmanteau, he deems it an international question, and expects Apropos of passports-what good. redress from his minister. Is he tempered men Lord Palmerston must charged too much at his table d'hote, pick out for our English ministers the ambassador shall hear of it is abroad. We have seen and heard his immediate remark, and he keeps much of them, and can with safe con- his word. While if on the other

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Which way will you go-to us it is perfectly alike-we are equally prepared to be your guide to the waterfall of Trolhatten, or the cascade of Tivoli -from Indus to the Pole," we are yours; whether your taste be with the worthy old lady, converted by the Tonga Missionaries" to "eat a roast child," or, on the other hand, to sip your pekoe on the wall of China, command us and we are ready to obey. If, however, less ambitious in your views, you are satisfied with a summer ramble, let me book you for a place in our coupé, and we'll start for the Rhine to-morrow. Now then for a passport.

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