world's history is acted every day, it would be piquant to occasionally at present occupy one's self with, our domestic miseries. A young man lately wrote to me that he a year ago published certain attacks on me, which he hoped would give no offence, because my anti-national opinions had angered him, and therefore that he in his patriotic wrath was incapable of self-restraint. But this young man should have been so kind as to send me a copy of his work. He appears to belong to the Bœotian party in Germany, whose wrath against "the French party" is very pardonable; therefore I do forgive him with all my heart. But I should have really been pleased if he had himself sent me the book. For this I praise the Sodomitic party in Germany, who always send me their abusive articles, often very prettily written, and—what is most praiseworthy—always post-paid. But these people need not take so much pains to preserve their anonymity. In spite of the disguised hand, I always recognise the nameless composer of such nameless baseness. I know these people by their style. "Cognosco stilum curiæ Romanæ!" cried the noble historian of the Tridentine Council as the cowardly dagger of the assassin struck him from behind.
But beyond the Sodomitic and Bœotian, the Abderite party in Germany is also enraged at me. But it is not only my French principles
