[NOTE 2.

Those that share thy blood:—­a collateral relative of Joanna’s was subsequently ennobled by the title of du Lys.]

[NOTE 3.

“Jean.”—­M.  Michelet asserts that there was a mystical meaning at that era in calling a child Jean; it implied a secret commendation of a child, if not a dedication, to St. John the Evangelist, the beloved disciple, the apostle of love and mysterious visions.  But, really, as the name was so exceedingly common, few people will detect a mystery in calling a boy by the name of Jack, though it does seem mysterious to call a girl Jack.  It may be less so in France, where a beautiful practice has always prevailed of giving to a boy his mother’s name—­preceded and strengthened by a male name, as Charles Anne, Victor Victoire.  In cases where a mother’s memory has been unusually dear to a son, this vocal memento of her, locked into the circle of his own name, gives to it the tenderness of a testamentary relique, or a funeral ring.  I presume, therefore, that La Pacelle must have borne the baptismal names of Jeanne Jean; the latter with no reference to so sublime a person as St. John, but simply to some relative.]

[NOTE 4.

And reminding one of that inscription, so justly admired by Paul Richtor, which a Russian Czarina placed on a guide-post near Moscow—­This is the road that leads to Constantinople.]

[NOTE 5.

Yes, old—­very old phrase:  not as ignoramuses fancy, a phrase recently minted by a Repealer in Ireland.]

[NOTE 6.

Our sisters are always rather uneasy when we say anything of them in Latin or Greek.  It is like giving sealed orders to a sea captain, which he is not to open for his life till he comes into a certain latitude, which latitude, perhaps, he never will come into, and thus may miss the secret till he is going to the bottom.  Generally I acknowledge that it is not polite before our female friends to cite a single word of Latin without instantly translating it.  But in this particular case, where I am only iterating a disagreeable truth, they will please to recollect that the politeness lies in not translating.  However, if they insist absolutely on knowing this very night, before going to bed, what it is that those ill-looking lines contain, I refer them to Dryden’s Virgil, somewhere in the 6th Book of the AEneid, except as to the closing line and a half, which contain a private suggestion of my own to discontented nymphs anxious to see the equilibrium of advantages re-established between the two sexes.]

[NOTE 7.

Amongst the many ebullitions of M. Michelet’s fury against us poor English, are four which will be likely to amuse the reader; and they are the more conspicuous in collision with the justice which he sometimes does us, and the very indignant admiration which, under some aspects, he grants to us.