Being at a loss how to proceed, I determined to inquire at the hotel of the American Minister, where I was informed that Paine lived at a bookseller’s in the Rue du Théâtre Français, an American bookseller, who inhabited No. 2. I immediately repaired to the house, and after mounting to the second storey, was shown into a little dirty room, containing a small wooden table and two chairs. “This,” said the portress, who had guided me upstairs, “is Mr. Paine’s room; he is taking a nap, but will be here presently.” I never saw such a filthy apartment in the whole course of my life. The chimney hearth was a heap of dirt. There was not a speck of cleanliness anywhere. Three shelves were filled with paste-board boxes, each labelled after the manner of a Minister of Foreign Affairs: “Correspondance Américaine, Ditto Britannique--idem Française. Notices politiques. Le Citoyen Français,” &c. In one corner of the room stood several huge bars of iron, curiously shaped, and two large trunks; opposite the fireplace a board covered with pamphlets and journals, having more the appearance of a dresser in a scullery than a sideboard. Such was the wretched habitation where I found Thomas Paine, one of the founders of the American Independence, whose extraordinary genius must ever command attention, and whose writings have summoned to action the minds of the most enlightened politicians of Europe! How different the dwelling of the apostle of Freedom from the gorgeous mansions tenanted by the apostles of the French Republic! After I had waited for a short time, Mr. Paine came downstairs, dressed in a long flannel gown. [Sidenote: INTERVIEW WITH PAINE] I was shocked by his altered appearance. Time seemed to have made dreadful ravages over his frame, and a settled melancholy was visible over his countenance. He pressed me by the hand, his countenance brightened as he recollected me, and a tear stole down his cheek. Nor was I less affected than himself. “Thus we are met once more, Mr. Paine, after a separation of ten years, and after we have both been severely weather-beaten.” “Aye,” he replied, “and who would have thought that we should meet in Paris,” he continued, with a smile of contempt; “they have shed blood enough for liberty, and now they have liberty in perfection, no honest man should live in this country, they do not and cannot understand the principles of free government. They have conquered half Europe only to make it more miserable than before.” I replied that I thought much might yet be done for the Republic. “Republic!” he exclaimed, “this is no Republic! I know of no Republic but that of America, and that is the only place for men like you and I. It is my intention to return as soon as possible. You are a young man, and may see better times. For myself I renounce all European politics.”