Louis XIV. was yet in his youth when Mazarin introduced a new source whence idle, wealthy people might derive amusement. The Cardinal filled _his_ palace with monkeys, that is, there was scarcely a room which had not in it one of these tricksy animals, to afford laughter to the occupant or visitor. They were carefully tended and highly scented by the nieces of Mazarin, those celebrated ladies whom satirists distinguished by the name of Mazarinettes. They are thus alluded to in ‘Le Passeport et l’Adieu de Mazarin.’ “Ainsi donc par vos limonades, Par vos excellentes pommades, Par la bonne odeur de vos gants, * * * * * Par les singes que tant aimez, Qui, comme vous, sont parfumés Par les belles Mazarinettes,” etc. The fashion of finding amusement in keeping monkeys was, however, of very old date. Plutarch tells us, that when Cæsar happened once to see some strangers at Rome carrying young dogs and monkeys in their arms, caressing them, he asked, ‘Whether the women in their country never bore any children?’ thus reproving those who lavish on brutes the natural tenderness which is due to mankind. The only case in which I can remember that monkeys were made useful, is that of the Abbé Galiani, whose monkey used to unseal all his letters for him. Galiani used to call him “a member of the diplomatic body.” Although the jester by right of office, had disappeared from the French court, we occasionally meet with amateur fools who presumed to hint censure at the monarch, but who found the King with more censorious wit than themselves. This was the case when Latour was taking the portrait of Louis XV. It was just after a national calamity. Latour, with the impudent familiarity of Triboulet, exclaimed, “Well, Sire, so we have no longer any navy!” “And Vernet?” coldly replied the King,--alluding to the marine painter whom he patronized, and who could furnish him any amount of fleets on and under canvas. If Louis XV. had not altogether the ever-ready wit necessary to a jester, he possessed all the imperturbability of the fool. An instance presents itself in the little court incident, when M. de Chauvelin was seized at the royal card-table with the fit of apoplexy of which he died. On seeing him fall, some one exclaimed, “M. de Chauvelin is ill!” “Ill?” said the King, coldly turning round and looking at him; “he is dead. Take him away; spades are trumps, gentlemen!”