me, and I believe they were in great hopes that I had run away.  The party of the ministers were loud in their accusations against the opposition for encouraging treason, and Perier and Constant, and the rest of them, made indignant appeals against such unjust accusations.  I took a different course.  I went into the tribune, and invited the ministers to come and give a history of my political life; of my changes and treasons, as they called them; and said that when they had got through, I would give the character and history of theirs.  This settled the matter, for I heard no more from them.”  I inquired if he had not felt afraid of being arrested and tried.  “Not much,” was his answer.  “They knew I denied the right of foreigners to impose a government on France, and they also knew they had not kept faith with France under the charter.  I made no secret of my principles, and frequently put letters unsealed into the post office, in which I had used the plainest language about the government.  On the whole, I believe they were more afraid of me than I was of them.”

It is impossible to give an idea, in writing, of the pleasant manner he has of relating these things—­a manner that receives additional piquancy from his English, which, though good, is necessarily broken.  He usually prefers the English in such conversations.

“By the way,” he suddenly asked me, “where was the idea of Harvey Birch, in the Spy, found?” I told him that the thought had been obtained from an anecdote of the revolution, related to me by Governor Jay, some years before the book was written.  He laughingly remarked that he could have supplied the hero of a romance, in the person of a negro named Harry (I believe, though the name has escaped me), who acted as a spy, both for him and Lord Cornwallis, during the time he commanded against that officer in Virginia.  This negro he represented as being true to the American cause, and as properly belonging to his service, though permitted occasionally to act for Lord Cornwallis, for the sake of gaining intelligence.  After the surrender of the latter, he called on General Lafayette, to return a visit.  Harry was in an anteroom cleaning his master’s boots, as Lord Cornwallis entered.  “Ha!  Master Harry,” exclaimed the latter, “you are here, are you?” “Oh, yes, masser Cornwallis—­muss try to do little for de country,” was the answer.  This negro, he said, was singularly clever and bold, and of sterling patriotism!

He made me laugh with a story, that he said the English officers had told him of General Knyphausen, who commanded the Hessian mercenaries, in 1776.  This officer, a rigid martinet, knew nothing of the sea, and not much more of geography.  On the voyage between England and America, he was in the ship of Lord Howe, where he passed several uncomfortable weeks, the fleet having an unusually long passage, on account of the bad sailing of some of the transports.  At length Knyphausen could contain himself no longer, but marching stiffly up to the admiral one day, he commenced with—­“My lord, I know it is the duty of a soldier to be submissive at sea, but, being entrusted with the care of the troops of His Serene Highness, my master, I feel it my duty just to inquire, if it be not possible, that during some of the dark nights, we have lately had, we may have sailed past America?”