"Wherever an Englishman went, in Paris, at this time, whether into a shop or a company, he was assailed with the exclamation, _'Ah! vos compatriotes!'_ and the ladies had always some wonderful story to tell him, of an embarrassment or mortification that had happened to _his_ duke; of the evil designs of the Prince Regent, or the dreadful revenge that was preparing against the injuries of France. The great gallery of the Louvre presented every fresh day a more and more forlorn aspect; but to the reflecting mind, it combined a number of interesting points of view. The gallery now seemed to be the abode of all the foreigners in the French capital:--we collected there, as a matter of course, every morning--but it was easy to distinguish the last comers from the rest. They entered the Louvre with steps of eager haste, and looks of anxious inquiry; they seemed to have scarcely stopped by the way--and to have made directly for the pictures on the instant of their reaching Paris. The first view of the stripped walls made their countenances sink under the disappointment, as to the great object of their journey. Crowds collected round the _Transfiguration_--that picture which, according to the French account, _destiny_ had always intended for the French nation: it was every one's wish to see it taken down, for the fame which this great work of Raffaelle had acquired, and its notoriety in the general knowledge, caused its departure to be regarded as the consummation of the destruction of the picture gallery of the Louvre. It was taken away among the last.