He used to say of flower-
beds that they were only good for nurses, who, not being able to quit the
children, walked on them with their eyes, and admired them from the
second floor. He excelled, nevertheless, in flowerbeds, as in everything
concerning gardens; but he made little account of them, and he was right,
for they are the spots upon which people never walk.

The King of England (William III.) lost the Duke of Gloucester, heir-
presumptive to the crown. He was eleven years of age, and was the only
son of the Princess of Denmark, sister of the defunct Queen Mary, wife of
William. His preceptor was Doctor Burnet, Bishop of Salisbury, who was
in the secret of the invasion, and who passed into England with the
Prince of Orange at the Revolution, of which Revolution he has left a
very fraudulent history, and many other works of as little truth and good
faith. The underpreceptor was the famous Vassor, author of the "History
of Louis XIII.," which would be read with more pleasure if there were
less spite against the Catholic religion, and less passion against the
King. With those exceptions it is excellent and true. Vassor must have
been singularly well informed of the anecdotes that he relates, and which
escape almost all historians. I have found there, for instance, the Day
of the Dupes related precisely as my father has related it to me, and
several other curious things not less exact. This author has made such a
stir that it is worth while to say something about him. He was a priest
of the Oratory, and in much estimation as a man whose manners were
without reproach. After a time, however, he was found to have disclosed
a secret that had been entrusted to him, and to have acted the spy on
behalf of the Jesuits. The proofs of his treason were found upon his
table, and were so conclusive that there was nothing for him but to leave
the Oratory. He did so, and being deserted by his Jesuit employers,
threw himself into La Trappe. But he did not enter the place in a proper
spirit, and in a few days withdrew. After this he went to the Abbey of
Perseigne, hired a lodging there, and remained several months. But he
was continually at loggerheads with the monks. Their garden was separate
from his only by a thick hedge; their fowls could jump over it. He laid
the blame upon the monks, and one day caught as many of their fowls as he
could; cut off their beaks and their spurs with a cleaver, and threw them
back again over the hedge