I do not advise you to visit Greece. Your skin is not tough enough to resist the multitude of hideous creatures that prey on people there. Speaking of Greece, since you take such good care of what is given you, here is a blade of grass which I plucked on the hill of Anthela at Thermopylæ, the place where the last of the three hundred died. This little flower has in its constituent atoms probably a few of the molecules of the late Leonidas. I recollect, besides, that on this very spot, as I lay stretched upon a pile of straw in front of the guard-house (what a profanation!), I spoke of my youth to my friend Ampère, and said that among the tender remembrances which I had preserved there was but one in which there was no touch of bitterness. I was thinking at the time of our beautiful youth. Pray keep my foolish flower. Tell me, should you like some more substantial souvenir of the Orient? Unfortunately, I have given away all the beautiful things that I brought back with me. I could give you quantities of sandals, but you would wear them for others, thank you. If you wish some conserves of roses and jessamine, I still have a little left, but let me know at once, or I shall eat them all. We hear from each other so seldom that we have a great many things to say concerning ourselves. Here is my history: I visited my dear Spain again in the fall of 1840. I spent two months in Madrid, where I witnessed a ridiculous revolution, several superb bull-fights, and the triumphal entry of Espartero, which was the most comical parade I ever saw. I was a guest in the home of an intimate friend who is almost like a dear sister to me. In the morning I went into Madrid, and returned to dine in the country with six women, the oldest of whom was thirty-six. In consequence of the revolution I was the only man at liberty to come and go freely, so that these six unfortunates had no other protector. They spoiled me terribly. I did not fall in love with any of them, as I should perhaps have done. While I did not deceive myself as to the advantages which I owed to the revolution, I found it very agreeable, nevertheless, to be a sultan, even _ad honores_. On my return to Paris I treated myself to the innocent pleasure of printing a book for private circulation. There were only made a hundred and fifty copies, with superb paper, illustrations, etc., which I presented to people whom I liked. I should offer you this rare book if you were worthy of it; but I must warn you that it is a historical and pedantic work, so bristling with Greek and Latin, nay, even with Oscan (do you even know what Oscan is?), that you could not so much as nibble at it.