I conversed with one of the fishermen sitting in the room. He stated that in no part of France had the peace of England caused more joy than at Calais, which had suffered extremely by the war, where the inhabitants were in a most deplorable condition; the young and the middle-aged, to avoid being famished, had no other resource than to join the armies, which chiefly subsisted upon the plunder of foreign countries, for they had no alternative between famine and conquest. These opinions were fully supported by a young man who joined in the conversation, who said that only dire necessity forced him to become a soldier. He had served with reluctance in all the campaigns against the English, and was now a captain of Grenadiers. The French army, he said, took no interest in the events occurring in Paris, nor in the Revolution, their common principle being to obey their officers and plunder for bread. The language of every general was the same, “Behind you is nothing but want and misery, before you glory and plenty.” They fought for glory and plenty, but never liberty, which he acknowledged no Frenchman could either understand or enjoy. I remarked upon the inconvenience to which travellers were exposed by the port regulations. He replied: “It is no fault of our municipality, they are men of worth. It is the will of the First Consul and must be obeyed.” I inquired whether a “douceur” would not produce admittance into the town. He answered no sum of money could purchase disobedience to an order of the Consul, for the Argus he had planted in it was the terror of the whole department, and nothing escaped the prying eyes of his spies and informers. About nine o’clock the officer returned with the welcome news--“Monsieur Mengoud would be happy to receive us.” We were then all conducted to the town-hall, where we answered to our names, then we were permitted to go to our respective inns, after a solemn charge to hold ourselves in readiness to present our passports. After refreshing myself at the “Lion d’Argent” (one of the best hotels in France, and where an Englishman is sure to meet with attention and civility) I proceeded to the house of the Commissary-General, a man who, fulfilling the orders of the executive directors, had introduced French troops and ignited the flames of civil discord in unhappy Switzerland. Such an interview could not be grateful to one of my habits of thinking, the more so that amidst the cloud-capped mountains and retired valleys of that once free, independent and prosperous country, I had passed the happiest hours of my life. The secretary announced my name. A voice of thunder roared, “Show him in!” I entered. Monsieur Mengoud desired me to be seated; the door was shut, and we were left alone altogether. He was a man of vast stature, and immense calibre, with a round countenance, not unlike in appearance to our Henry VIII., large rolling eyes, and bristly black hair.