In consequence of having been informed the preceding evening that an imperial decree had passed, by which strangers entering the French empire were permitted to bring as much money into it as they chose, but were not suffered to take out of it more than what certain officers appointed for that purpose considered necessary for the prosecution of their journey, the surplus passing in the nature of a forfeiture to the crown, I concealed about thirty ducats, which fell within this description of overplus, in my cravat, and at five o’clock in the morning, marched from my hotel to the bureau des diligences par eau, a distance full two English miles, to be searched for this superfluity of cash, previous to my ascending the Rhine. At this house a scene took place which perhaps has not often occurred to travellers, in consequence of the temporary apprehension which it excited, the ridiculous situation in which it placed me, and the retributive chastisement which it inflicted for thus venturing upon an hostile shore. I was introduced into a room looking upon the Rhine; at the bureau sat the Director, a man who wore spectacles, with a strongly marked, expressive countenance, apparently about fifty years of age; upon my bowing to him he demanded of me, in German, who I was? I requested him to address me in French, which he did, repeating the question. I told him I was an American going to the Francfort fair, upon which he put down his spectacles, and running up to me, squeezed my hand with a violence of compression infinitely more painful than agreeable, and exclaimed in very good English, “How happy is this day to me! for I too am an American.” I was obliged to return the affectionate salutation, and also to express my delight in having, so far from our native home, met with a countryman. He then asked me from what part of America I came? “From Baltimore,” was the answer. “Happier and happier!” cried he renewing his embrace, “for I was born there too.” At this moment I wished, for the first time in my life, all the force of the _amor patriæ_ at the devil; but there was no time to be lost in meditating upon the peril and awkwardness of my situation. To prevent, as much as possible his interrogating me further about my adopted country, I addressed with all possible fluency, as many questions as I could suggest respecting Cologne, the Rhine, the war; in short, I touched upon every subject but what had an American tendency. To my observations he bowed, to my questions he gave very brief answers, and continued expressing his delight in seeing me, a delight which was very far from being reciprocal. After ordering his servants to bring breakfast for me, which I did not decline, although I had already taken that meal at my hotel, for fear of offending him, he made many inquiries after some persons whom he named, and mentioned to be of the first consequence in Baltimore. I gave him to understand that I had left the