"Not find one! no, of course you can't. Why didn't you come to me? I happen to have scores, hundreds."

I took one copy, and left the remaining hundreds in nubibus.

Colman afforded another instance of his touchiness, by his furious onslaught on the reviewers, who, in noticing his poems, entitled "My Night Gown and Slippers," had justly condemned the ribaldry which polluted the writer's wit, and referring to his mature years, had applied to him the reproach addressed to Falstaff, "How ill gray hairs become a fool and jester!" Here he had not only a bad, but an indefensible case, and his anger and vituperation of his judges only served to confirm the justice of their sentence. Strange! that the man who, as a writer of harmless farces had sheltered himself under the nom de guerre of Arthur Griffinhoof, should not only avow, but attempt to defend an objectionable volume of poems. Stranger still, that the same writer who had allowed himself so very broad a latitude in his own plays should, when he became dramatic licenser, exercise a squeamish fastidiousness in supervising the works of others, which could hardly have been surpassed by a Puritan Mawworm. As if for the purpose of illustrating Swift's position, that a nice man is a man of nasty ideas, his prurient delicacy discovered immodest meanings where none were dreamt of by the writers; the name of the deity, however reverently introduced, was instantly expunged; and all sorts of swearing, even where conventional usage sanctioned it as a venial expletive, was blotted out by the sanctimonious censor. Apropos to this rigour, I remember an anecdote of my friend Tom Dibdin, some talking to him about his forthcoming play, asked him where the scene was laid, "At Rotter," was the reply.

"Rotter! where's that? I never heard of such a place."

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"Nor I either," resumed the playwright, "it was Rotter-dam, but Colman has struck out the dam."

Though I saw so little of Colman himself I was well acquainted with the majority of his dramatic works, having been present on the first night's performance of the "Iron Chest," in 1796; of "Bluebeard," in 1798; of the "Poor Gentleman," in 1802; of "John Bull," in 1805; of the "Heir-at-Law," "Blue Devils," the "Review," and "Love laughs at Locksmiths." For a long term of years, indeed, I was never absent from a first night's performance at either of the patent theatres. Heu! quantum mutatus ab illo Hectore! I, who in those days always had an admission-ticket for the season, and by an annual retaining fee generally secured the best seat in the best box, now suffer many a year to elapse without ever entering a theatre!

Before I close this brief and slight notice of George Colman, the younger, let me communicate to my readers the pleasure that I myself feel in recording that his widow, the once beautiful and fascinating actress, Mrs. Gibbs, is still living in good health, at one of our fashionable watering-places. If I cannot say in the inflated language applied by Dr. Johnson to Garrick, that her retirement from the stage "diminished the public stock of harmless pleasure and eclipsed the gaiety of nations," I venture to predict that she, whose rare histrionic talent afforded so much delight to playgoers in her youth and maturity, will receive their cordial and unanimous wishes for the extension of her old age, in the enjoyment of health and happiness.

ADRIEN ROUX;

OR,

THE ADVENTURES OF A COURIER.

BY DUDLEY COSTELLO, ESQ.

CHAP. XII.

I LEAVE SIR JOHN CHUBB'S SERVICE-MONSIEUR CHASSEPOT BECOMES MY FRIEND HIS MÉNAGE IN THE RUE DU TABOURG.

THE excitement caused by this adventure was very great throughout Orleans on the following day; indeed, it may be questioned whether any thing so stirring had befallen the city since its capture by the Pucelle. The attempted robbery was an affair common enough, but combined with abduction it assumed a highly romantic aspect. The delinquents, moreover, were gentlemen who had figured conspicuously but disadvantageously in the criminal annals of their country, and their capture was looked upon as a remarkable event. The police swaggered immediately, and Felix Chassepot-talkative on all subjects-had an amazing deal to say on this, but I was in point of fact the real hero of the story, and for four-and-twenty hours my promptitude and acuteness were the theme of universal discussion at the Hôtel de la Poste. Meanwhile a procèsverbal was drawn up, and Messieurs Binoche and Durastel were sent to prison to await their trial at the next assize.

Sir John Chubb was, to use his own expression, in a decided "fix.” His share in the affair was such as reflected no credit either on his sagacity or his dignity. Had he exercised the commonest discretion he would not have been the dupe of two fripons, and if he had kept himself sober, he might, even at the eleventh hour, have availed himself of my warning. People whom you serve in spite of themselves are seldom the most grateful in return, especially if their vanity be wounded in the act. This was the case with Sir John, and his mortification at the exposé which, if he had listened to me, he might have avoided, completely outbalanced his recognition of my services at Montl'héry. Besides, with a feeling common to vulgar minds, he considered that he had settled that question by the money which he gave me, and I soon perceived that his friendly feeling had abated. For my own part, when I came to think over the matter, I could perceive nothing very alluring in the perspective. There was "confusion in the camp of King Agramant." Miss Eliza Chubb, the victim of parental severity on one hand, and of betrayed affections on the other, was in a state bordering on despair and almost dissolved in tears; her confidante, Miss Maddox, louder in her sorrow, was no less demonstrative in the denunciation of "perfidious man," counts, colonels, valet de chambres, and "whipper snapper boys of fifteen," being specially designated in her commination; and from the moment Sir John woke on the morning after the discovery, he had done nothing but quarrel with Lady Chubb, whose temper, never of the best, was by no means improved in consequence.

It was, therefore, little to my surprise or regret-under the circum

stances that I received an intimation from my master of his intention to dispense with my services.

"I was a pretty fool," said he, in his habitual soliloquising manner, "to come here at all-but catch me going any further; no! back to England do I go the very moment I've done with these johnny darms and commissaries. A parcel of swindling rascals! There's not a man in France that doesn't deserve to be flogged at the cart's tail; if I had 'em in the city I'd give it 'em. As for you, Roo, as I'm going to leave off travelling and couriering altogether, I shan't want you any more. Here's twenty frongs for your wages since I hired you three days ago, and now you may take yourself off as fast as you please!"

This was sufficiently cavalier treatment, and I felt my cheeks glow at the summary way in which I was dismissed. For the moment I half repented me of having prevented the confederates from executing their project, and I believe if the situation could have occurred again I should have allowed matters to take their course. I would not, however, accept Sir John's money. "Gardez votre argent," said I, in a contemptuous tone, ce n'est pas avec de l'or qu'on recompense les gens qui vous ont conservé l'hon

neur !"

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I was too much irritated to remember that this indignant sentiment, being uttered in French, would be entirely thrown away upon him, though he could be at no loss to understand my actions.

"What the d-l is the fellow chattering about? why don't you speak English? How do I know what you mean with your 'arjong' and 'honnoor.' D-n me, if a Frenchman can open his mouth without bringing them in. I take it they've about as much of one as they have of the other! Why, the fellow's as red in the face as a turkey-cock. Curst if he hasn't walked off without his wages. Here, Roo, come back and take your twenty frongs."

But I had turned on my heel and left the apartment, though I could hear his voice still growling after me in vain.

Let me here put an end to the episode of Sir John Chubb and his family—at least for the present. He fulfilled his threat, for as soon as the depositions were completed, he once more betook himself to the Manuel du Voyageur and the Livre de Poste, and departed homewards a sadder if not a wiser man than when he first set out. I was amongst the crowd assembled to witness his departure, but I did not put myself prominently forward, being content merely to catch the eye of Mademoiselle Caroline, who nodded to me in a friendly manner in return for the deep obeisance which I made with my hand pressed on my heart.

There was some cheering as Sir John got into his carriage, but still more when he drove off, though as the gentlemen who figured most in the charivari were the repulsed ciceroni of Orleans, it may be questioned whether their voices were raised in his honour; indeed, whoever listened attentively, might at once have satisfied his mind on the subject, for the national salutation which is generally given to Englishmen in France, formed an unmistakeable part of the valediction.

I was thus, within the brief space of three days, once more my own master. I was too young to feel the burden of the world on my shoulders, and all things were so new to me that every change seemed pleasant. Still I was aware that something must necessarily be done,

that the residue of my fifty francs was not a provision for life, and that unless I procured an état, the acquaintance which I had already formed with the marechaussé might ripen into an intimacy more close than agreeable.

I was pondering on the matter in the basse cour of the Hôtel de la Poste, on the same bench where I had discovered Felix Chassepot, when I told him of the conspiracy against Sir John Chubb, when my attention was roused by the appearance of that worthy at an open window just beside where I was sitting.

"What is the matter, Adrien ?" said the good-natured cook, "what are you doing there in that thoughtful attitude? I thought Sare Chobb was already gone."

"It is precisely for that reason, monsieur," returned I, “that you see me here. I am no longer in the Englishman's service."

"Not in his service !" exclaimed Chassepot, with astonishment; "how comes that about? I should have fancied you had established a claim upon him for ever. What has happened ?"

There seemed to be so much real interest shown by Monsieur Felix, that I did not hesitate to tell him all that had occurred, from the hour of my abrupt departure from Bourg la Reine up to that time, and on his questioning me still further, I added all I knew of my history from the earliest period of my recollection.

The worthy old cook listened with attention to my narrative, interrupting its course only to make an occasional exclamation, accompanied by a strange grimace, or an appeal to his snuff-box. When I had made an end he shrugged up his shoulders, compressed his lips closely, puckered his forehead into a thousand wrinkles, and gazed at me fixedly for a minute or two without speaking.

At length he broke silence.

"Eh bien, mon pauvre garçon, qu'est-ce-que tu vas faire à present ?” "I don't know," I replied.

"Sais-tu faire la cuisine ?"

I shook my head.

"Tant soit peu ?" he suggested.

"Not the least in the world," I answered. "The only skill I have is in being able to groom and physic a horse, bring him to life when he is dying, and ride him to death when well. I can also clip and trim a poodle, sing a few songs, repeat the 'contes bleues' by heart, read and write, speak English, and swear-when I am vexed—like a postilion.” Monsieur Chassepot laughed, as much perhaps, at the energy with which I detailed my accomplishments as at the nature of them.

"Et l'amour?" he asked; "you have forgotten Mam'selle Maddoc." “Oh, nonsense,” I replied, but blushing, no doubt, as I spoke; "besides, I am satisfied I made no conquest there."

"Well," returned Monsieur Chassepot, "of all the things which you have enumerated, though the list is not a very long one, none of them belong to my metier-except," he added, correcting himself, "the two last. There are many contretemps that befall the science of the cuisine which justify the use of language not to be found in the dictionary of the academy, or in the sermons preached at Lent, but except any thing goes wrong with my art my oaths are very innocent ones. As to love," he continued, with a grave smile,-"See, I am fifty years of age and up

wards, and Madame Chassepot being gone"-here there was a comical sort of sigh-"I am still single. Judge, then, what must have been my career! He who marries when he is young exhausts the tender passion before he knows its value. It is like roasting a leveret only a week oldit disappears at the first mouthful, and leaves no flavour behind. Mais l'homme sage," he pursued, slowly savouring a profound pinch of snuff, "the wise man husbands his resources, he kills his game in season, and never fails to enjoy a dinner fit for the gods!"

Here he paused in a meditative mood, in which he remained absorbed for a few moments. Then rubbing his chin with energy, he resumed,

"But this is not your affair, Adrien-at least not yet. If you had known ever so little of cookery I think I could have done something for you under my own eye. But to make you a mere marmiton when your genius lies another way! No! the world shall acknowledge that a cook knew how to be disinterested! You are right; your vocation calls you to the saddle and the coach-box. Nature has designed you for a courier, and a courier you will become."

"I have not the least doubt of it," I observed, "provided the opportunity offers."

"Yes, opportunity is necessary. One can't make a consommé without meat. But every thing happens for those who are ready to take advantage of events. It is the knowledge of this secret that makes great men. The emperor would never have won the Battle of Austerlitz, nor Monsieur Le Gacque have triumphed over a braised turkey if the favourable moment had not been seized. See what it is to have genius! And you, too, mon garçon, the day will come, I predict, when you will say, I also am famous !' There is a fame for every one," continued Monsieur Chassepot, warming with his subject; "some gain it at the point of the bayonet, others at the end of the telescope; some, like the Cardinal de Richelieu, by length of head; others, like the illustrious Vestris, by lightness of foot; the great Corneille acquired his fame by writing fine tragedies, Monsieur Talma by acting them; Mongolfier was famous for inventing a balloon, cette pauvre Madame Blanchard for killing herself by tumbling out of one. What was the fame of Cambacères? Giving good dinners! What that of Beauvilliers? Inventing them! Romeo and Juliet both died for love; Vatel, the chef of the Grand Condé, fell on his own sword! All these were famous ! Fame sits on the author's pen or swells triumphant from the musician's fingers. One day she places a golden chaplet on the poet's brow, on the next she seeks the atélier of the artist. Nor does she confine her favours to man. The architect who built the Cathedral of Strasbourg is famous, but so are its pâtés de foie gras! Perigord produced the Prince de Talleyrand, but Perigord is no less famous for truffles. So you see, Adrien, there is a chance for every body and every thing."

If I was not absolutely bewildered by Monsieur Chassepot's logic, I was certainly captivated by his eloquence and the earnestness, with which he entered into the subject of my future fortunes. He presently gave me a more substantial proof of the interest with which I had inspired him than mere words could demonstrate. His private ménage, he said, was small, but comfortable; an apartment, au troisième, in the Rue du Tabourg, whither he repaired when the labours of the day were over, and where, he said, he prepared his mind for the exercise of his art. I should be his guest for a time; he doubted not the period would be a brief one,