The Massachusetts Spy, And Worcester County Advertiser

Ventriloquism. Among the low companions of the late Duke of Orleans was an Abbe, who by this talent contributed to the amusement of his Highness. One Sunday that the ducal family dined in the country, the Abbe was left solitary, and at a loss how to employ his time. Calling a hackney-coach in the square adjoining to the palace, he ordered it to drive to St. Cloud.

The coachman had scarcely passed the barrier when he was astonished by three or four voices in his vehicle, with mingled threats and cries of murder. Stopping his horses, he descended, opened the door, and saw nothing but our Abbe, who affected to sleep profoundly. Jehu, rubbing his eyes, began to doubt of his ears, and even of his mental sanity, but drove quietly on, till passing the gate, he entered the Bois de Boulogne. Here he was again astounded by three or four voices in his coach, but it was a woman defending herself from violence; and again descending, he found his fare fast asleep.

Towards the middle of the Bois de Boulogne, the highway passes through deep sand, and the carriages of course, are constrained to a slow progress. Here the Abbe gently opened the coach-door, stepped on the sand, and retiring obliquely behind, gained the nearest thicket, where he dined at his ease, as he had concealed a cold chicken and a wicker bottle full of good wine.

Meanwhile the coachman proceeds to St. Cloud, stops at the chief tavern, alights, opens his door, flings down the steps, and perceives that his carriage is void and empty. Cursing his destiny on losing his fare, and such a gainful day as Sunday is to the tribe, he was obliged to refresh his horses, and eat a morsel, after which he returned in sorrow and dismay by the same route.

The Abbe was on the watch; and with the same advantage of the sandy road, approached from behind, and opening the door, glided into the coach; where he remained in great silence, till the driver stopped at the first stand in Paris eager to supply the loss of time: but he was ready to lose what few senses he retained, when he saw his fare pop his head out at the window, and heard him exclaim, "To the square where you took me up." He obeyed in great terror, and hat in hand let the Abbe descend; but when the money was offered, he hastily mounted his box and drove off, roaring, "No, no, Mr. Devil, I shall never damn my soul by taking your wages."—Paris paper.