WORLD OF FASHION.
poet— pardon his on this solemn and august occasion. ‘Whatever be the wrong he hus done to your feelings, he has openly confessed them, and hes nobly expressed his sorrow fur them, Do not, then, carry his punishment to the dreadful extremity of feigning not to know him.”
“If T were not half foolish already, this persecution would drive me mad,” roared out the poor litile man in a passion, . :
“ Chenier ! Chenier !” shouted, or ruther bellowed out a thousand voices beneath the window.
Chenier felt back upon the sofa, pale and fainting.
“This is, indeed, equal to assassination, Here I thought no one could know me—here I bave offered injury to no man, and yet here is there gathered an entire population who demand from me my head.”
““Yes—it is your head that they demand,” interrupted the Belgian and misinterpreting the language he had heard.
“Do not refuse it to them any longer. present it to them.”
“What is it give them my head? Gine them my own head 2” repeated the unhappy mon, whe @ung himself about as if in @ confused dream, and did not understand any thing of what web passing around him.
The young Belgian quickly opened his window—cast himself upon the Frenchman, and by main force, dragged him to the window, ‘The latter thought he was about to be flung among the crowd in the etreet, and therefore clung with a desperate energy to the balcony. Ag soon as the spectators beheld hita—touched with the modesty of the port, and the resistance that he offered to their homage, they set up s huzza, 60 loud, s0 astound- ing, and so aw(ul that it Would have deadened even the roag of a park of artillery—und at the samo instant the Frenchmsn felt something cold, damp, and clammy de~ scending upon his bald pate.
At length the victim escaprd from the hands of the Belgian, pushed him out of the room (Robinson bad maile his escape some time hefore)—bolted aud burred the door, snd in flinging himself upon the sofa, perceived something fall from his bead.
“ What, a crown, too! oh! oh!” It was as if he had said—I am made utterly contemptible.”
The poor man fancied that his troubles were over for the evening; but suddenly he heard a dull noise on the staircase. It was followed by whispering voices, and the steps of persons who were moving forward with precaution. The noise became more distinet as it ap- proached the chamber. Persons stopped at the door— they tapped gently—no notice was taken of them, and then a voice bawled through the key-hole—
“Monsieur Chenier! open the door if you please. Do not any longer maintain an useless incognito. One of your friends has recognised you in Brussela,
Be pleased to
43.
Robinson, Sir, the celebrated: ventritoquiat, knows you very well.”
“41 don’t know you at all.” I hever knew Robinson I never saw a ventriloquist. When will you have done with this nonsense? Whut more do you want with me?” .
“It in to pray you that you will honor us by being present at a banquet, intended to show our respect for you.”
“A banquet for me!!! why 607 and you don't know me.”
- What originale all theso great poeta aro!” said one
of those besieging the door to an assistant. Never in my life did I see any thing to equal his obstinacy. ‘Well, we must obtain hy main force, what he refuses to do willingly. The same thing happened once to Rousseau, and that greut ‘man was delighted with the force that was used againat him, Well try the sume now.”
The speaker placed his back against the door. He dent his lege, mude 2 bow of his shoulders—and crash! in went the door, and over it “the deputation’”” of the «good citizens of Brussels.” They laid hold of the tra- veller, carried him away in their arms, amid loud shouts of joy from the mob assembled outside the banqueting hall. In five minutes afterward the stranger found himself on the right of the chairman, at a grand ban- quet. Next to him—and in compliment fo kim—was placed hia dear friend Robinson. In vain did he protest against his being thus treated—in vain did he even ask pernission to change his moming gown for a coat. They held him fast—a prisoner of war, and whether he would or not, he was forced to partake of an excellent supper,
At last, the dessert was placed on the.table, and one of the entertainers arose. ‘Troubled, agitated, it might
I don’t know you,
.be said excited, considering in whose presence he stood,
he drew from his pocket a pieve of paper, and then pro- posed the following toast—
«To Chenier—the great poet! The illustrious dra- matic author, whose sublime talent, Belgium rivals France in awarding to him the full meed of admiration. ‘May he ever bear in mind the hospitable réceptiun that the cily of Brassels is happy in having the opportunity of giving to him. To Chenier—to the great poet!”
The person to whom this compliment was paid then rose, and there was instantly a dead silence in all parts of the room. .
“Gentlemen,” said he, “I am very grateful to you fr your hospitality ; but it ia to me, in effect, a very great injury and annoyance. Pethaps there is a poet whose name is the same as mine—but thank Heaven! I never knew him, nor his stuif called poetry; { am Matihew John Chenier, a dealer in Bordeaux wines, and
Mr. | T have come here from Paris, on business,” �
