DEAR FRIEND: I have just returned from my holy-week excursion, tired out, after a sleepless and bitter cold night. I find your letter here, and am delighted to learn that you are on this side of the sea.... I have been in better health for two weeks. Some one recommended a very agreeable remedy for my pains in the stomach. It is called pearls of ether. They are small capsules made of I don’t know what, which are transparent, and contain the liquid ether. You swallow them, and an instant after reaching the stomach they break, and let the ether escape. The effect is a queer, agreeable sensation. If you should ever need a sedative, I recommend them to you. You must have been sadly struck with the wintry aspect of southern France, coming as you did from Africa. Whenever I return from Cannes I am always shocked at the appearance of the bare trees and the moist, dead earth. I am awaiting your _gebira_ with the keenest interest. If the embroidery is as marvellous as that on the tobacco pouch which you sent me, it must be admirable indeed. I hope you have brought back some gowns for yourself, and quantities of pretty things which you will show me. I do not know whether there are as many good Catholics at ---- as there are in Paris. The fact is, our drawing-rooms are no longer inhabitable. Not only have those who were always devout become bitter as verjuice, but all the ex-Voltairians of the political opposition have turned papists. I find consolation in the thought that some of them feel obliged to attend mass, which must be somewhat of a bore to them. My former professor, M. Cousin, who used never to speak of the pope other than as the bishop of Rome, has been converted and does not miss a mass. It is said, even, that M. Thiers is becoming pious, but it is difficult for me to believe this, because I have always been partial to him. I can understand that you may not be able now to tell me, even indefinitely, when you intend to return to Paris, but let me hear as soon as you know anything to tell. I shall be tied here as long as the session continues.... Tell me, dear friend, how you are after so many fatigues and tribulations on land and sea. Good-bye. Take good care of yourself, and write to me promptly and often.... CCXXXVI PARIS, _Wednesday, April 24, 1861_. I am writing the history of a bandit Cossack of the seventeenth century, named Stenka Razine, who was killed in Moscow with horrible tortures, after he had hanged and drowned a great number of boyards, and had maltreated their women in true Cossack fashion. I will let you read it when it is finished, if I ever reach the end of it. Good-bye, dear friend. Give me news of yourself.... I am leading a most disquieting and uncomfortable life, thanks to the Institute affairs and the petition of Madame Libri.... CCXXXVII PARIS, _May 15, 1861_ (_The Senate_).