The Baron de Richemont went back to Switzerland. Here he lived until 1840, when a general amnesty allowed him to return to France. In 1842 he was again arrested, but liberated after a few days. acknowledge the identity of the Baron de Richemont with the escaped dauphin, and could make no reply when the accused put to them the question, " If I am not Louis the Seventeenth, who am I?" In fact the trial gave a dangerous blow The revolution in 1848 gave a new to the legitimist party, and certain dis- turn to his affairs. His adherents beclosures made during its progress re- came free and fearless; they established vealed the intrigues of the expelled dy- a journal with the name "L'Inflexible, nasty clearly and openly to the eyes of whose object was the public discussion the public. Especially remarkable are of the question of the existence of Louis the words which the President of the the Seventeenth in the person of the Baret court addressed to the jury at the conclu- on de Richemont, calling upon the pubsion of the trial: "Gentlemen, who is lic, as a jury, to decide the question. the accused, now standing before you? What is his true name, his origin, his family, what are his antecedents, what his whole life? Is he a tool of the enemies of France, who strive to stir up civil war throughout our land? or, is he rather only an unfortunate man, who, as by a miracle, escaped from the horrors of a bloody revolution; who, outlawed and excommunicated from his very birth, finds no name and no refuge where he can lay his head?" We leave our readers to comment upon such words in the mouth of the President of a court of justice. The jury could not agree upon the question of the identity of the dauphin, and found him guilty of "conspiracy against the safety of the State," in consequence of which he was sentenced by the court to twelve years of imprisonment. Perhaps never in the annals of justice had there been such a case as now presented itself. Under what name should the accused be sentenced? To sentence him under that which he demanded, was an acknowledgement of the name, and all comprised in it, and the July government would not thus compromise itself. The prosecutors evaded the difficulty by quoting in the sentence all the pseudonyms, which the dauphin had used in his many travels. The prince was taken to the prison of St. Pelagie, where he found as prisoners the leaders of the republican party, Armond Marrast, G. Cavaignac, Bache, &c. who could not withhold the respect due to his character and his misfortunes, and with whom he established most friendly relations, lasting through many years. In the year 1835, the political part of the prison was one day found empty, the prisoners having escaped in the night. During the short time of the publication of this sheet, the Baron de Richemont gained thousands of adherents; hidden, long-forgotten facts came to light-witnesses, whom no one had thought of, (among others the former deputy of a German State at the Diet,) brought documents in proof of tales till now supposed incredible. A few months more, and the desired goal, the object of his whole life would have been attained -then the legitimists played their last card and won the game. The Baron de Richemont was sixtyfour years old, a stroke of apoplexy had lamed one side of his body, he had suffered cruelly during his life; we must not condemn the gray, almost crippled man, too severely; his strength failed him when nearly at the end of his hard struggle. For special reasons it is impossible for us to enter upon the motives, which wrought so suddenly an entire change in the mind of the Baron. Perhaps the reader can himself frame an opinion from the following facts: The publication of the journal was discontinued, the Baron went to Italy, where, on the twentieth of February, 1849, he was received by Pius IX at Gaeta, in an audience lasting several hours. After his return, he gradually renounced his former associates, invited only the clergy and old legitimists, made a journey to Niederbronn, where a paralytic nun, who had pretended ecstacies, saluted him as king and anointed of the Lord, was re-confirmed by the bishop of Strasburg; in short, fell entirely into the hands of a party, which sought to withdraw him from the sympathy of all who at least had sincerely pitied him. The empire quietly allowed him to publish his pretensions, while even the members of the Napoleon family were not sparing of tokens of royal respect toward him. It was said the duchess d'Angoulême upon her death bed, wished to acknowledge him openly as her brother, but was prevented by her confessor, and that an annual stipend of considerable amount was substituted for this public recognition. We have no proof either for or against this story, which was circulated among his adhe rents. His sudden death at the castle of Vaulx-Renard, and the disappearance of his body have given rise to many reports which it is useless for us here to repeat. One last fact, however, which perhaps will interest the reader, and for whose credibility we pledge ourselves, is the following. On his last journey to Lyons, a few days before his death, he missed his way and stepped into a neighboring coffee house near by, which was for the moment empty. On the table lay an open book the "Count of Monte-Christo" of Alexander Dumas. After turning over the leaves for a moment, he turned to his attendant and said, "Do you believe it possible that from the effects of hashish a person can be for some days apparently dead, buried, and brought alive again out of his grave?" In order to make the reader still better acquainted with this interesting personage, we copy, word for word, a fragment from one of his letters. dear friend-I wish that before my death, all those who have followed me with such devotion and unselfishness, may have the most irrefragible conviction, that it was not a political adventurer, but the royal orphan of the Temple, who so often pressed their hands with true friendship, and the heartiest gratitude for their sacrifices." From the private letters of a person, who held intercourse for years with the Baron de Richemont, yet nevertheless considered his pretensions unfounded, we, finally, extract the following details in regard to his personal appearance. "Our Dauphin' is still the same: he is a remarkable person, perhaps one of the most remarkable existing in this chaos of many worlds, called Paris. As you do not know him, I will describe him to you. He is of moderate height, and although he suffers much from rheumatism, his step is still firm and erect, his snowwhite hair lies smoothly upon his head, and his whole exterior gives the impression of a perfect gentleman, in the fullest sense of the word. His blue eye has a peculiar expression of goodness and benignity, one perceives that it has shed many bitter tears. He speaks slowly, in a kind tone, and with wellchosen words; his voice has a firm, energetic ring, and seems not to have suffered from age. He treats all personal matters with the greatest calmness, one might say with indifference. I have "Do you ask what I specially desire- never heard a harsh word from him. what is the object of my struggle, When he speaks of Louis XVIII, he which has now lasted for more than draws his eye-brows together, without half a century? I will answer you. It changing the tone of his voice; when has never occurred to you that I can still Louis Philippe is spoken of, a scornful think of possessing the throne of France; smile may be seen upon his lips; at the that would be a great misfortune for mention of Maria Antoinette, he sorrowmyself, and surely a still greater one for fully shakes his head, and when the emFrance, and it could be said of us both press Josephine is mentioned, he has that we should justly deserve all our un- a standing phrase ce n'était happiness; still less do I dream of be- femme, c'était un ange." coming rich and honored by such an acknowledgment of my claims. You know that I need little for my life and this little is amply provided for. To avenge myself? There is an old age, dear friend, when the blood runs slowly through the veins, and when there is an inexpressible joy in forgiving. Then what? What I wish-what I desirewhat I unweariedly strive for-is this, 66 pas une "Remarkable man! You could live with him for years, without once hearing him speak of his pretensions; but if you once begin to talk upon them, he is inexhaustible, and I must confess to you, that this deliberate, cool, just presentation of such unheard of misfortunes, from the mouth of the martyr himself, makes more proselytes than the declarations of his advocates. He is unwearied in beneficence, I myself know of considerable sums which he spent the last winter upon the poor. He accepts scarcely any valuable gifts, but willingly receives little souvenirs, particularly the handiwork of women, to whom he is extremely gracious, especially when they have reached a certain age. He is very benevolent to every one, and by this never-failing kindness has a great influence over all around him. The porter and his whole family, who know him only as M. Louis, rave about him. What charms me so much in his manners is the absence of all that is theatrical; he knows very well that I think nothing of his pretensions, and yet he has never tried to convince me. When we are together we talk about the news of the day, of this or that person, but never of Louis the Seventeenth." Who can solve the mystery which this remarkable Baron de Richemont sets before us! Who can venture to decide whether he were deceiver or deceived, whether he were actually the man he assumed to be? Can none of our historical writers be induced to investigate a subject, so full of interest even if it be now of little practical importance? Bentley's Miscellany. IN THE LION'S DEN. M. ANATOLE MESNARD had reached his seventy-fifth year when people dated 1840. Old men with active minds, stuffed full of reminiscences, and who are colloquial and pleasant, are always welcome guests; but old Frenchmen are more especially interesting when they possess the above qualities. They retain such fresh, youthful spirits, and with their inborn liveliness describe their adventures so attractively and dramatically. that the hearer involuntarily feels himself moved back to the age which they are describing. Such an old Frenchman was M. Mesnard, and I had the good fortune to hear from his lips the strangest anecdotes about the past, especially of the days of the first French Revolution, of which the following story pleased me most of all, and I repeat it in the very words of the old gentleman: Of all the memorable reminiscences (he began) which I have retained of the days of the mighty Revolution, the most important, in my mind, is a visit to the chief of the Terrorists, to the man who held the lives of thousands in his hand; who walked through blood and was choked in it; whose life, actions, and plans must to this day be called an unsolved enigma: my visit to Maximilien Robespierre. In itself a visit to Robespierre is not easily forgotten, much less when its object is an undertaking which may be ranked with the most dangerous adventures. I asked of Robespierre a human life, which was already surrendered to the guillotine. Robespierre's family were no strangers to me, for I was born at Frévent, near Arras. I formed his acquaintance on his visits to Arras; he was nearly the same age as myself, only two years older. I was, however, much more intimate with his friend and fellow-scholar, Lebas, who, a native of Frévent was one of my playmates. At a later date we were separated: Lebas selected the legal profession, while I went into business. Events soon forced Maximilien Robespierre to the surface of the stormy sea of the Revolution, and his friend Lebas, whom I met several times, became inseparable from him. Lebas possessed a thoroughly honorable and amiable, extremely poetical nature, and we could not comprehend how so dear a man as Lebas was could exist in the vicinity of the fearful man. At last we learned that Lebas had married the youngest daughter of carpenter Duplay, in whose house Robespierre lived. You will soon see of what importance Lebas became to me. On April 6, 1794, the criers, posters, and newspapers of Arras, announced that on the preceding day Danton, Hérault de l'Echelles, Hebert, and Camille Desmoulins, had laid their heads on the plank of the guillotine. Danton's popularity had been very great, and hence the general alarm can be conceived: still, no one dared to make a stand against the system of terror. We were sitting in a very uncomfortable state of mind at supper, when our old man-servant came in pale and trembling to announce Madame Lepelietier, who earnestly desired to speak with my father. The lady was a near relative of ours, and greatly respected. Her eldest son was serving with the army of the North, but Marion, his beautiful! wife, a scion of the noble family of the De Bonnaires, lived in Paris, as did Madame Lepelletier's youngest son, François, who was attending the Louis le Grand College. The old lady came in, her knees tottered, and she could hardy reach a chair. At length, after looking around anxiously, to see whether any suspicious persons were present, she with difficulty stammered the words, "Marion and Francois are arrested! They have been thrown into the Luxembourg prison." 66 What for? Pray speak," my father asked; in the greatest alarm. "No reason is given. Persons arrested generally learn their crime when the hour of death arrives." "Perhaps it is only a rumor," my mother said, soothingly; "for what crime can Francois have committed ?" "No, it is not a rumor. My lawyers wrote to me by the evening post from Paris. My agony is indescribable, M. Mesnard! You have often aided me: can you think of no help now? Can no one save my darling, handsome, innocent boy?" Madame Lepelletier's agony grew into a hysterical attack. While the ladies assisted the poor lady, I walked up and down the room with my father. The fate of the poor people painfully touched our hearts. I must help them in their fearful position, of that I felt determined. The open danger connected with this; the thought of rendering such a chivalrous service to a pretty woman, like Madame Lepelletier of Paris; all this had a mighty charm for a young man as I then was. At the same time magnanimity pervaded the air at that day, and instances of grand self-sacrifice were witnessed daily. "I will save the condemned!" I suddenly stopped and exclaimed.. "Anatole!" cried my father, "you are out of your senses." "For Heaven's sake, dear son," my mother screamed, "do not think of it!" Madame Lepelletier had been restored by my exalted exclamation. She ran towards me, seized my hand, and pressed it kindly. "Oh, noble, brave young man!" she cried, poor woman, "you will attempt it? Yes, you are good, courageous, and clever. I am sure you will succeed." "Anatole, you must reflect" my father timorously intervened. "You will venture your life," my mother moaned, as she threw herself on my neck. I looked in my poor mother's terrified face, but I also thought of the terror of the prisoners, and to this was added a feeling of honor. "No," I exclaimed, "no persuasion-away with fear! I shall start for Paris the first thing to-morrow: I shall speak to Robespierre, but first hasten to friend Lebas. Can not he, Robespierre's Pylades, promote my plans? So have no fear, my dear ones." The name of Lebas had at least convinced my father that I would not act thoughtlessly and without a regular plan. Hence, after a slight resistance, my worthy parents gave me their blessings, while Madame Lepelletier silently pressmy hand. As far as it went, I had forined a superficial survey of the state of affairs. It was most important for me to be able to speak with the prisoners, which was possible with the aid of the gaoler of the Luxembourg: of course with a large bribe. Madame Lepelletier informed me that the man's name was Lambert, and that I could boldly apply to him, if I conveyed a message from her and showed him her portrait. I also noted the dwelling of the lady's notary, as well as the street where Madame Marion Lepelletier had formerly lived, and then went to my my bedroom. Of course I could not sleep. When the silence of night surrounded me, my thoughts began to grow regular. I now represented to myself what a daring step I was about to undertake. Was it not dangerous enough merely to intercede for suspected persons? Any one who called himself their friend was an enemy of the nation; an entreaty for the imperilled entailed the highest danger. Then, I asked myself again, whether Lebas, who was a gentle and poetical man in ordinary life, would judge as mildly when political subjects were the question. It was well known that Robespierre was irreproachable in his mode of life, a lover of simple pleasures, a florist; that his highest enjoyment was a walk in a quiet, rural spot; that his eyes turned away in horror from a butcher's block. He was not able to kill the smallest worm which crept across the path before his feet, and yet he sent thousands of human beings to death. Such a man was assuredly the least likely to yield to an attempt at rescue. To this must be added, that I did not know exactly how deeply the persons arrested had compromised themselves, and that we, I and my family, had the the reputation of not being very enthusiastic partisans of the Convention, although no enemies of liberty. All this whirled about confusedly in my brain, and it was not till morning that I slumbered. I will not detain you with a description of the parting, the lamentations, wishes, and apprehensions; enough that at five o'clock the diligence rattled through the gate of Arras, and rolled at seven in the evening over the paving-stones of Paris. I had not visited the capital for a year. Hence I gazed in amazement at the wondrous ornaments on the houses. Everywhere flags with the colors of the republic, trees of liberty, whose top bore the Phrygian cap, passages from Rousseau's works, and so on. The busy people hurried here and there; hawkers with the latest news from the seat of war, the decrees of the Convention, lists of the arrested, the condemnations, and the executions. At a corner stood a popular orator on a table, surrounded by a heaving mob; then a battalion of the Nation● Guard, returning from exercise, marched over the square; then, again, a crowd of grotesquely-attired Jacobins forced their way through the throng. Paris was in a state of feverish excitement. On this 8th day of April numerous victims had passed under the guillotine; people were talking about conspiracies among the remaining members of the Gironde, at whose head Louvet was reported to stand. I took up my quarters with a friend of our family, M. Brotteau, and on the same evening commenced my investigations. Everywhere I met groups of excited and noisy persons. The Caira and the Marseillaise were sung by men, women, and children. I noticed the red cap repeatedly, and a peculiar fashion among the ladies: they carried knitting-bags of an enormous size, on which the destroyed Bastille was represented. I went first to the house of Madame Marion Lepelletier, Here I in the Rue Blancs Manteaux. learned, however, that, on the previous day, the landlord, a tailor, had been arrested because he had falsely passed himself off as a representative of the people. The porteress, an old woman, was the only person living in the house. The next morning I proceeded, in the first instance, to the Luxembourg prison, but I was unable to speak to Lambert the gaoler, for the simple reason that he had also been arrested. He was charged with favoring prisoners, and was guillotined on April 13. Although these two first failures rendered me very desponding, I collected my thoughts and courage again. Paris seemed to me on this day to have regained its ordinary physiognomy, and had it not been for the popular red caps, the flags and inscriptions, no one could have fancied he was walking about in the mighty crater, from which the awful stream of lava poured over Europe. Only a few bill-stickers were surrounded by a gaping mob. The posters contained decrees of the Convention, appeals for voluntary contributions for the army of the North, threats against bad citizens. Then came the theatrical bills; and, lastly, sales of the furniture of expelled aristocrats One of the posters ran as follows: "In the quarter of the Sorbonne, on the evening before last, and at an assembly of the fifth section, manifestations took place in favor of the arrested aristocratic Courandin. The bad citizens who raised their voices had better be on their guard. Their heads sit no firmer than those of a plaster of Paris figstreet pavement. Courandin was an adviser of the overthrownn tyrant, Louis Capet. Were he not in other respects a criminal, that would suffice. But the intercessors for him are as guilty as he. Whoever is with the friends of the tyrant shall kiss the plank. ure thrown out of the fourth floor on to the (Signed.) "THREE WATCHFUL PATRIOTS." You can imagine what an impression this bill produced on me! But in the worst moments a man's courage grows the greatest and most evident. I saw that I must set to work at once and dare a visit to Robespierre. The lists of the tried and condemned did not yet contain the names of our friends, and, so long as they still lived, I would not give up all hope. Robespierre lived in the house of |