their zeal for their new allies, the Court, proceeded against the authors and printers with the most tyrannical severity. Of course my good friend Jacques Marlot could not escape, and I one day found old Jerome Laborde, the major-domo, in great affliction on account of his nephew, who had been arrested that morning for the publication of the famous attack upon the Queen, called "La Custode." It so happened that, by my master's permission, I passed the two following days at St. Maur, with Lord Masterton, who was kindness itself towards me; and on the third morning I was sent by the Duke, immediately after my return, to gain some intelligence in the Faubourg St. Germain. As I came back, I saw an immense crowd advancing rapidly towards the Place de Grève, and crying "Honte! honte! Aux Mazarins! aux Mazarins!" Running my eye a little forward, I soon perceived that the cause of the tumult originated in the procession of the criminal lieutenant and his archers towards the place of execution, whither they were carrying some condemned criminal to make his last public appearance in the most disagreeable manner. As it was evident that the principal personage on the scene was in favour with the public, I hastened forward to obtain a glance, when, to my horror and astonishment, I beheld the jovial face of my poor acquaintance, Jacques Marlot, still as jovial as ever, notwithstanding his endeavours to assume a sober and sedate demeanour under the very grave circumstances in which he was placed. Every sort of mad enterprise was then as common as a hedge sparrow, and some evil demon put it in my head to rescue the unhappy printer from the hands of Monsieur le Bourreau. Amongst the mob were a great number of printers' devils, booksellers' boys, and other shopmen; and speaking a word or two to those who seemed the most zealous, our plan was quickly arranged, and spread like wild-fire amongst the people. The crowd was every minute increasing; their cries and execrations were gaining new strength at each vociferation; and I saw Grani, the criminal lieutenant, turn his head more than once to scan the aspect of the very unwelcome train which now accompanied him. He soon, however, reached the gibbet in the Place de Grève, and poor Marlot turned,--with a face out of which even his rueful situation could not banish entirely habitual fun,--to pronounce, as usual, his last oration:--"My friends, my friends," he cried, "take warning! See what comes of a Mazarinade!"