Such was the state of France at the opening of the following history: and now having attempted to prepare my reader's mind for what is to follow, I have only farther to refer him to the notes at the end of the third volume, in confirmation of my assertion, that this tale is entirely true. The manuscript from which it is rendered in its present form, possessed that air of fact which from the first left very little doubt on my mind that the narrative was authentic; but not content with this, I examined the best authorities, and had the pleasure of finding that every material circumstance was perfectly unquestionable, and from the acquaintance of the original writer with all the most minute points, I cannot now divest myself of the idea that he must have been, in some degree, an actor in what he narrates. Be that as it may, I feel sure that whoever peruses it to the end will be perfectly convinced of its truth; and in the hope that many will do so, I leave them to commence their journey, wishing them all a safe and happy arrival at its conclusion. ERRATA. VOL. I. Page 49, line 5, _for_ 'illuminated,' _read_ 'illumined.' -- 115, -- 16, _for_ 'shas hent,' _read_ 'has sent.' -- 182, -- 15, _for_ 'the side,' _read_ 'your side.' VOL. II. Page 65, line 5, _for_ 'end,' _read_ 'beginning.' -- 185, -- 15, _for_ 'whom,' _read_ 'as.' VOL. III. Page 216, line 18, _for_ 'wave,' _read_ 'waive.' -- 342, -- 17, _for_ 'laid,' _read_ 'lain.' RICHELIEU. CHAPTER I. Which shows what a French forest was in the year of our Lord 1642, and by whom it was inhabited. The vast Sylva Lida, which in the days of Charlemagne stretched far along the banks of the Seine, and formed a woody screen round the infant city of Paris, has now dwindled to a few thousand acres in the neighbourhood of St. Germain en Laye. Not so in the time of Louis the Thirteenth. It was then one of the most magnificent forests of France, and extending as far as the town of Mantes, took indifferently the name of the Wood of Mantes, or the Forest of Laye. That portion to the North of St. Germain has been long cut down: yet there were persons living, not many years since, who remembered some of the old trees still standing, bare, desolate, and alone, like parents who had seen the children of their hopes die around them in their prime.