sul as
if I had ever visited my consulate.[34] The only official paper I
possessed, in connexion with the office, the commission and _exequatur_
excepted, was a letter from the Prefet of the Rhone, acknowledging the
receipt of the latter. As this was strictly a French document, I gave it
to W---- as proof of my identity, accompanied by a brief statement of
the reasons why he was without a passport, begging the authorities at
Need to let him pass as far as the frontier, where I should be in season
to prove his character. This statement I signed as consul, instructing
W---- to show it, if applied to for a passport; and if the gendarmes
disavowed me, to show the letter, by way of proving who I was. The
expedient was clumsy enough, but it was the best that offered.

[Footnote 34: There being so strong a propensity to cavil at American
facts, lest this book might fall into European hands, it may be well to
explain a little. The consulate of the writer was given to him solely to
avoid the appearance of going over to the enemy, during his residence
abroad. The situation conferred neither honour nor profit, there being
no salary, and, in his case, not fees enough to meet the expense of the
office opened by a deputy. The writer suspects he was much too true to
the character and principles of his native country, to be voluntarily
selected by its Government as the object of its honours or rewards, and
it is certain he never solicited either. There are favours, it would
seem, that are reserved, in America, for those who most serve the
interests of her enemies! A day of retribution will come.]

This arrangement settled, we got into the carriage, and took our leave
of Paris. Before quitting the town, however, I drove round to the Rue
d'Anjou, to take my leave of General Lafayette. This illustrious man had
been seriously ill for some weeks, and I had many doubts of my ever
seeing him again. He did not conceive himself to be in any danger,
however; but spoke of his speedy recovery as a matter of course, and
made an engagement with me for the ensuing summer. I bade him adieu,
with a melancholy apprehension that I should never see him again.

We drove through the gates of Paris, amid the dreariness of a winter's
evening. You are to understand that everybody quits London and Paris
just as night sets in. I cannot tell you whether this is caprice, or
whether it is a usage that has arisen from a wish to have the day in
town, and a desire t