On our return from the parade, we went into a large party of ladies and gentlemen, among whom were several members of the Government. One of them took me aside; he questioned me as to the state of feeling in England on the subject of the peace, and asked me whether I read with attention the English papers. Upon my answering in the affirmative, he remarked that though the liberty of the Press was an essential principle of our British Constitution, persons in foreign countries were often exposed to the highest and most malignant censures from its abuse. I now understood the drift of his conversation and observed that natives of England, as well as foreigners, frequently had to smart under the lash of the British Press and that no one had been more severely handled (on some occasions) than myself. I explained that we in England never noticed those things, unless by retorting upon our opponents through the medium of the Press. He then said with some hesitation: “I have excellent authority for saying that the First Consul is incensed beyond measure at the liberties taken with his character and government in the English papers.” “If that be all,” I replied, “his anger will not go down with the sun, for I may venture to promise him an unceasing fire from the British Press as long as he discloses an ambition that is fatal to the security of Europe.” “And to France,” he exclaimed. Then taking me by the arms, he said with great energy, “When, my dear friend, you return to England, animate every person concerned in the public journals to give him no quarter. It is only through the medium of your papers that we know our situation; the sound philosophy of your principles (meaning the English nation’s) will finally rescue France from slavery.” Having uttered these words under strong symptoms of agitation, he left the room. [Sidenote: ENGLISHMEN AND FIRST CONSUL] Thunderstruck and confounded at this unexpected termination of our discourse, I was for a moment at a loss what to think and how to act, when fortunately the ex-Director Barthélémi came up and asked whether I was pleased with the review. This made me recover my senses, and I was enabled to enter into genial conversation. I was introduced to Archbishop Faesh,[1] Bonaparte’s uncle; and to Visconti,[1] but the only news they communicated were the details of the operations in San Domingo, brought home by Jerome Bonaparte. We soon afterwards left the party. I conveyed the ladies back to the hotel, and then drove to the house of the person with whom I have been engaged in the conversation related above. He received me with great consideration and politeness, and stated how happy he was to be able to confer with me alone, as it was not safe to enter into particular details in a mixed assembly. I agreed with him, and he immediately entered more fully into the subject.