And when, on hearing that this personage now fills the high office of President of the French Republic, we inquire (very naturally) how he came there, we are informed that, several years ago, he invaded France in an English vessel (the Engglish—as was observed in p. 34—having always been suspected of keeping Buonaparte ready, like the winds in a Lapland witch's bag, to be let out on occasion), at the head of a force, not of six hundred men, like his supposed uncle in his expedition from Elba, but of fifty-five (!), with which he landed at Boulogne, proclaimed himself emperor, and was joined by no less than one man! He was accordingly, we are told, arrested, brought to trial, and sentenced to imprisonment; but having, some years after, escaped from prison, and taken refuge in England (England again!), he thence returned to France; and so the French nation placed him at the head of the government!
All this will doubtless be received as a very probable tale, by those who have given full credit to all the stories I have alluded to in the foregoing pages.
POSTSCRIPT TO THE ELEVENTH EDITION.
When any dramatic piece takes—as the phrase is—with the public, it will usually be represented again and again with still-continued applause; and sometimes imitations of it will be produced; so that the same drama in substance will, with occasional slight variations in the plot, and changes of names, long keep possession of the stage.
Something like this has taken place with respect to that curious tragi-comedy—the scene of it laid in France—which has engaged the attention of the British public for about sixty
