ignation is here in my pocket, and I am quite ready to lay
it on the table if you refuse me a vote of confidence."

I always thought that he would use this weapon once too often.

A letter, just received from Paris, brings me the news of his overthrow
and the proclamation of Marshal MacMahon as President of the Republic.

* * * * *

_28th May, 1873._

The editor of the French paper, of which I have been the London
correspondent for a few months, sends me a check, with the sad
intelligence that one of the first acts of the new Government has been
to suppress our paper.

Things are taking a gloomy aspect, and no mistake.

* * * * *

_12th June, 1873._

To return to France at once would be a retreat, a defeat. I will not
leave England, at any rate, before I can speak English correctly and
fluently. I could manage this when a child; it ought not to take me
very long to be able to do the same now.

I pore over the _Times_ educational advertisements every day.

Have left my name with two scholastic agents.

_25th June, 1873._

I have put my project into execution, and engaged myself in a school in
Somersetshire.

The post is not a brilliant one, but I am told that the country is
pretty, my duties light, and that I shall have plenty of time for
reading.

I buy a provision of English books, and mean to work hard.

In the mean time, I write to my friends in France that I am getting on
swimmingly.

I have always been of the opinion that you should run the risk of
exciting the envy rather than the pity of your friends, when you have
made up your mind not to apply to them for a five-pound note.

* * * * *

(M----, Somerset.) _2d August, 1873._

Arrived here yesterday. Find I am the only master, and expected to make
myself generally useful. My object is to practice my English, and I am
prepared to overlook many annoyances.

Woke up this (Sunday) morning feeling pains all over. Compared to this,
my bed at Mrs. Tribble's was one of roses. I look round. In the corner
I see a small washstand. A chair, a looking-glass six inches square
hung on the wall, and my trunk, make up the furniture.

I open the window. It is raining a thick, drizzling rain. Not a soul in
the road. A most solemn, awful solitude. Horrible! I make haste to
dress. From a little cottage, on the other side of the road,