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Young, well-born, tolerably good-looking, and never utterly destitute of money, nor grudging whatever enjoyment it could produce, I entered Paris with the ability and the resolution to make the best of those beaux jours which so rapidly glide from our possession. Seest thou how gayly my young maister goes? Bishop Hall's Satires. Qui vit sans folie, n'est pas si sage qu'il croit. La Rochefoucault.

I need not chronicle my next three days to me the most glorious "trois jours" of my life. Clara had evidently singled me out and preferred me to all the rest. It was beside me she rode upon my arm she leaned in walking and, to comble me with delight unutterable, I overheard her say to my uncle, "Oh, I doat upon poor Harry! And it is so pleasant, for I'm sure Mortimer will be so jealous."

I shall never forget the impression made on me by your brilliant appearance and your no less brilliant talk." "Ah! ces beaux jours! ce bon Louis Philippe, ce cher petit Joinville," sighed the Vicomte. "But at that day you compared le bon Louis Philippe to Robert Macaire.

He would have become a Pillar of the Order of Knighthood and an Ornament of the Age of Chivalry. A wreath of laurels would have encircled his brow instead of a rope of hemp encircling his neck. Autres jours autres moeurs. How many people called him Hubshi, we know not; but we know, from his own lips, of the killing of some few.

Phœnix-like, France arose from the ashes of the Hundred Years’ War, and it was Agnes Sorel, as priestess, who stirred the embers which hid the new life. Voltaire, generally more ready to scoff than to approve, wrote thus of Agnes Sorel: Le bon roi Charles, au printemps de ses jours, Avait trouvé, pour le bien de la France, Une beauté, nommée Agnes Sorel. Was it for the good of France?

I would conclude my letter with another apology for having thus far intruded on your valuable time; but you yourself will be able to suggest my best excuse in the deep interest which we both take in the subject. Believe me, my dear Sir, Very sincerely yours, From M. Guizot Paris, April 21st. J'ai recu et lu votre article il y a deja plusieurs jours, et je l'ai trouve excellent.

Let him reflect that fashion is no bondage imposed by alien hands, but the last wisdom of his own kind, and that true dandyism is the result of an artistic temperament working upon a fine body within the wide limits of fashion. Through this habit of conformity, which it inculcates, the army has given us nearly all our finest dandies, from Alcibiades to Colonel Br*b*z*n de nos jours. Even Mr.

On alloit la mettre au rebut; un commis s'y oppose, et dit qu'on trouvera a qui la lettre s'adresse. Dix ou douze jours se passent. On voit arriver un grand benet, qui dit, "Messieurs, je viens savoir si on n'auroit pas garde ici une lettre de mon cher pere?" "Oui, monsieur," lui dit le commis, "la voila." On prete ce trait a Bouret, fermier general.

Nothing in the history of the Cent Jours is more strange than the small part played in it by the Marshals, the very men who are so identified in our minds with the Emperor, that we might have expected to find that brilliant band playing a most prominent part in his last great struggle, no longer for mere victory, but for very existence.

There, for some thirty years longer, the seigneurs defied justice, and it was much the same elsewhere. On the 31st August 1665, the Grand Jours were announced for all the centre of France, but notice that they were to be held had been given so long before that the guilty were allowed plenty of time to escape out of the country, go into hiding or come to terms.