the witty and wily politician; but, usually, men have
neither half the wit nor half the cunning that popular accounts ascribe
to them, when it becomes the fashion to record their acts and sayings. I
believe the Duke of Orleans holds no situation about the court, although
the king has given him the title of _Royal_ Highness, his birth
entitling him to be styled no more than _Serene_ Highness. This act of
grace is much spoken of by the Bourbonists, who consider it a favour
that for ever secures the loyalty and gratitude of the Duke. The
Duchess, being the daughter of a king, had this rank from her birth.

The orchestra was playing when we entered the Gallery of Diana, and
throughout the whole evening it gave us, from time to time, such music
as can only be found in a few of the great capitals of Europe.

The covers were laid, and every preparation was made within the railing
for the reception of the _convives_. The table was in the shape of a
young moon, with the horns towards the spectators, or from the wall. It
was of some length, and as there were but four covers, the guests were
obliged to be seated several feet from each other. In the centre was an
armchair, covered with crimson velvet, and ornamented with a crown; this
was for the king. A chair without arms, on his right, was intended for
the Dauphin; another on his left, for the Dauphine; and the fourth,
which was still further on the right of the Dauphin, was intended for
Madame, as she is called, or the Duchess of Berri. These are the old and
favourite appellations of the monarchy, and, absurd as some of them are,
they excite reverence and respect from their antiquity. Your Wolverines,
and Suckers, and Buckeyes, and Hooziers would look amazed to hear an
executive styled the White Fish of Michigan, or the Sturgeon of
Wisconsin; and yet there is nothing more absurd in it, in the abstract,
than the titles that were formerly given in Europe, some of which have
descended to our times. The name of the country, as well as the title of
the sovereign, in the case of Dauphine, was derived from the same
source. Thus, in homely English, the Dolphin of Dolphinstown, renders
"le Dauphin de Dauphine" perfectly well. The last independent Dauphin,
in bequeathing his states to the King of France of the day, (the
unfortunate John, the prisoner of the Black Prince,) made a condition
that the heir apparent of the kingdom should always be known by his own
title, and consequently, ever