You are like Hilly; you are always forgetting yourself, and this annoys me. Such people are eaten up by others, who turn into cannibals in spite of themselves. But pray banish from your mind that I was angry with you; it's my way—that's all. I send you three hundred francs for your journey.

MY DEAR CHILD,

(Translation.)

Paris, December 21, 1866.

Your uncle is working unceasingly in the hope of finishing enough of the "Shah Nameh" to figure in the Exhibition, so as to gratify the national vanity. It is wonderful what a powerful lever this vanity is; and it is one great argument against huge empires like Russia. To extinguish an Englishman by doing better than he, a Frenchman would submit to tortures; but an inhabitant of the centre of Russia has not this stimulus against another in St. Petersburg, and I have no doubt that one of the causes of the gradual decline in civilization of the Roman empire was their contempt for what they called "barbarians," whereas the small Italian states were devoured with envy of each other in the Middle Ages, so that when one town built a church the neighbouring city hastened to do the same, and this rivalry was the source of the great works in painting, sculpture, and architecture which to this day make Italy the museum of Europe. The great Austrian empire has inherited the self-satisfaction of the Roman empire, and in consequence has done little in this respect.

There is general uneasiness in France, and the people at the Bourse say that this state of things cannot last. The Péreires pay no dividend this year for the crédit mobilier. Louis Napoleon is beginning to be no longer considered a profound genius. The vulgar in every country have a false idea that when a single man calculates on the evil passions of others, cultivates and turns them to his own advantage, he must be a profound genius, whilst, on the contrary, he shows himself to be superficial, common, and wanting in penetration.

E is not much to my taste, but I can endure him. He has a mania for coming between half-past ten and eleven, and when Mr. Mohl tells him it is too late, and takes him into his den, the next time he comes at 8 30, just as I am dressing to go out, and this seems to offend him. I have noticed that the Germans are generally

annoyed with the women here because we do not put ourselves out for them. The article man is no rarity. I have my days for reception-let him come then. I said to him very coolly, "No, I cannot have you to dine, because I sleep after dinner, and you would put me out," for he offered to come without ceremony and ask for some dinner. Only from Barthélemy (and he would not do it) could I bear that. I am making great arrangements. I do not let your

uncle know all about them; but he suspects something. When it is all settled I will tell him how I intend to place everybody, and at the same time clear his room, which is in a frightful mess.

Margy has gone away twice as well as when she came, thanks to M. Liebreich. Ah, what a man is Liebreich! I never met any one to be compared with him. How I should like to marry him! but this is impossible. He might be my son, and he has a wife and I have a husband. Too many events would be necessary. In the mean while you shall make his acquaintance. He lived with Helmholtz for ten years. He is incomparable! Adieu, dear child. I am in high spirits, but I can't tell why. The little L. is so naughty that his father's friends conspire against him just as they do against Louis Napoleon. Adieu.

M. MOHL.

(Translation.)

Paris, January 3, 1867.

MY DEAR CHILD,

I was becoming uneasy about you when I received your letter just this instant, and I read it to your uncle. It is the first revelation he has had of our plan in its full maturity. He said nothing, so I inquired, "Are you not pleased?" "I must go and bury that creature," was all he said, and off he went. Here is the explanation. Madame X-- is dead, and is to be buried at twelve o'clock. He must go to the church. There are four inches of snow in the garden. He anathematizes X-- now she is dead, as he did while she was alive.

I make some little arrangement for you every day, and I think you will be comfortable. The chicks may have the dining-room for their nursery. Their prattle in German will not disturb me as it would if I could understand them.

Mr. and Mrs. Lewes have been to dine and breakfast here. She is the George Eliot who wrote "Adam Bede." We are excellent friends. Adieu.

CHAPTER XI,

1867-1869

Cousin's death-His mission-His will-Mignet-Barthélemy-Visitors during the Exhibition-Nandor-French marriages-Emperor of Russia's popularityLove for living-English girls-Cats and lambs-German handwriting— Flirtations-Ardent friendships-French bourgeoises-Mrs. Frewen Turner's accident - Queen of Holland's visit - Stors Madame de BoufflersDull evening-Thiers—Spurious letters of Pascal and Newton-Emperor of Austria-Power of attention-Schools-Selfishness in youth-Education in America-Energy of Madame Mollien-Berryer and Guizot-M. DoudanEnglish Sunday-Importance of speaking French-Evils of awkwardness— Love for sister-Absurdity and selfishness of English fathers-A "dot" necessary-Old and new fashioned love-making in England-Mistake to cultivate bores-Senior's "Ireland "-Prévost-Paradol-Visit to Rome.

To Lady Augusta Stanley.

DEAR LADY AUGUSTA,

January 25, 1867 (alas!).

How long it is since I have written! but I am well punished by getting no letter, though your last gave me such pleasure. I was delighted the little clock had such success, but I am quite certain the infinite grace with which you gave it, and which you are not aware of, luckily, doubled the agrément. Ask Arthur if what I say is not true.

We have got through the winter wonderfully well; I, especially, have no more traces of my bitter enemy's former acharnement. I have found out at last how to keep him off. My spouse is busy getting the "Shah Nameh" ready for the great plaything which so fills the head of our august fool and baby that he will get himself knocked off, I believe, before he sees the hurricane come on. However, the toyshop will have its fling, and although I have been intending to write for a long time, it is that which now puts pen in

hand. I want you to tell me at what time Miss Mary Grant can come to me, because I exercise as much modest hospitality as I can on this occasion, and I shall have a succession of young ladies in your room-it's your room and Barthélemy's. He has had it for ten months, whenever he came to town, once a week, sometimes for two or three nights. It was a great pleasure to us and a great convenience to him. He came back this day week with the body of Cousin in his coffin. He travelled in that awful frost and snow, and

suffered much, being fifty hours on the road, which was stopped up by snow. Cousin was buried Thursday. Mr. Mohl was struck with the great sensation the loss has created at a time of such universal apathy. They have vividly remembered that he was the introducer into France of a higher and nobler philosophy; that by raising the mind from the materialist view to the spiritualist in 1818, when no mortal had a suspicion of such a change, he has been the prime cause of a whole new system of ideas. His will is worthy of the great mission he fulfilled. He has left nearly £800 a year, to the astonishment of every one, and a magnificent library to the Sorbonne, for the use of philosophy only, which must have cost at least 800,000 francs. About £10,000 goes to the foundation of a librarian and an under librarian (garcon de salle), to the entretien and buying new books (on philosophy). Barthélemy is head librarian with £140 a year, and Cousin has left him, Mignet, and a notary friend the residuary legatees of all the rest, barring some legacies. Mignet and Barthélemy never had the slightest hint that he intended to make them independent in their old age. Barthélemy was in terror lest he should be blind and poor. Mignet, too, might have been dependent on Thiers. Mignet made me cry the other day when we were alone, with the few and solemn deep words which expressed his dear feelings. I need say nothing of Barthélemy; you know what a creature he is. I thank God more often than I can say for having blessed me with the intimacy of such fine minds as I have enjoyed and housed in my mind. You and Arthur are in good company, I assure you.

My reason for wanting to know soon à peu près when Miss Grant will come, is that she may have the choice of the time. One person must have it, and I shall then propose to another and get her answer, and to another, and so on. In the year '55 I asked at * Lady Augusta's niece, a very remarkable sculptor.

least six or seven persons. Every one would come at the same time. I had less room than now, and my room was empty almost always, as they would not make up their minds to tell me when I asked them, or to come at my time. This time I begin early to avoid the same. With best remembrances to Arthur, I remain, dearest love, yours

ever,

MARY MOHL.

Madame von Schmidt's visit was all too short to please her aunt, who persuaded her to leave her elder child, Nandor, in Paris. He was sent to a famous school, Ste. Barbe, but Madame Mohl had him over continually to the Rue du Bac. She wrote constant letters to his mother, full of her tender care for the child and her plans for his improvement.

DEAR CHILD,

(Translation.)

May 24, 1867.

Your uncle tells me that I have not written to you for a long time. The truth is I have been so busy with Madame Belloc's affairs.

Barthélemy is afraid of his eyes; he is obliged to go to live in the country at Meaux. He is terribly grieved at going away, and I have offered him your room whenever he comes to town. This will be a little alleviation for him, and for me it is a great pleasure to be able to offer it.

Everything is going down here, and the money we have invested in Italy and Spain gives no interest, and the Austrians are such fools that I am afraid they will let themselves be beaten again. It is this wretch of ours who has hatched all this. One of his reasons is that he does not want to bring back his troops from Rome, in order to please the clerical party. In England they begin to see this, and even the Italians to suspect he is cheating them. At last the party of order understands this. As for the demagogues and Garibaldi, I believe they are well pleased.

...

Good heavens! what things I have heard to-day about the marriage of Madame C's daughter-the one who is dead. You must have heard me speak of her. There are some facts about the