atic and social gossip of Vienna, the contemporary literature--in
short, all that one clever _homme du monde_ could find to interest and
amuse another, are treated with wit, brilliancy, and gaiety, supported by
profound good sense. When that volume is published his bust will be
placed here by acclamation.'

_Monday, April_ 19.--I dined with Lanjuinais, and met Tocqueville, Rivet,
Dufaure, Corcelle, Freslon, and one or two others.

They attacked me about the change of sentiment in England with respect to
Louis Napoleon.

'While he was useful to you,' they said, 'you steadily refused to admit
that he was a tyrant, or even an usurper. You chose to disbelieve in the
3,000 men, women, and children massacred on the Boulevards of Paris--in
the 20,000 poisoned by jungle fever in Cayenne--in the 25,000 who have
died of malaria, exposure, and bad food, working in gangs on the roads
and in the marshes of the Metidja and Lambressa.'

'We did not _choose_', I answered, 'to disbelieve any thing. We were
simply ignorant. _I_ knew all these facts, because I have passed a part
of every year since 1847 in Paris; because I walked along the Boulevards
on the 20th of December 1851, and saw the walls of every house, from the
Bastille to the Madeleine, covered with the marks of musket-balls;
because I heard in every society of the thousands who had been massacred,
and of the tens of thousands who had been _deportes_; but the untravelled
English, and even the travelled English, except the few who live in
France among the French, knew nothing of all this. Your press tells
nothing. The nine millions of votes given to Louis Napoleon seemed to
prove his popularity, and therefore the improbability of the tyranny of
which he was accused by his enemies. _I_ knew that those nine millions of
votes were extorted, or stolen by violence or fraud. But the English
people did not know it. They accepted his election as the will of the
nation, and though they might wonder at your choice, did not presume to
blame it.'

'The time,' they answered, 'at which light broke in upon you is
suspicious. Up to the 14th of January 1858 the oppression under which
thirty-four millions of people within twenty-four miles of your coast,
with whom you are in constant intercourse, was unknown to you. Their
ruler insults you, and you instantly discover that he is an usurper and a
tyrant. This looks as if the insult, and the insult alone, opened your
eyes.'

'What opened ou