He lived in Paris, in Rue Platiere, in a fourth story. His one room was furnished with mere necessaries--two little beds, a chest of drawers, a table, a spinnet, and some chairs; and he was triumphantly happy when, having paid for these few things, he could call them his own. Some boxes and pots filled with plants stood in his window, where he often scattered crumbs for the sparrow's: all was neat and clean; and the simplicity and peace that reigned in the little chamber imparted the most agreeable impressions. He occupied himself by copying music, which he did with exquisite neatness and correctness: the only use he made of his celebrity was to ask rather a high price for his work. Many persons employed him, so to find a pretence for intruding on his solitude and staring at him. He did not scruple to be rude to those whom he saw were attracted by mere impertinent curiosity--to all others he was civil if not complaisant. The sole real blot on his household was Thérèse, whom every one mentions with dislike and disrespect. The prince de Ligne describes the visit he paid: he went under the pretence of seeking a M. Rousseau of Thoulouse, and contrived, while excusing himself for the mistake, to slide into conversation. Rousseau submitted to be drawn out by an utter and unnamed stranger, without the slightest appearance of distrust. The prince asked him about his music, and then alluded to literature, and quoted one of the opinions Rousseau had himself advanced, of the danger of certain literary acquirements: in a moment he was on the alert to reply, entering into the argument with more eloquence than he had ever showed in his writings, and developing his ideas with delicacy and precision; for it is remarkable that the embarrassment and confusion of ideas, of which Rousseau complains as habitual to him in conversation, never occurred, except when he fancied that something was expected, and his extreme shyness interfered to perplex his ideas, and even his utterance. But in the common course of conversation all agree in describing him as more than entertaining, as fascinating, through his eloquence, his perspicuity, and the vivacity and energy of his imagery and ideas; but these were not to be exercised on the trivial topics of the day, but on the high moral and philosophical sentiments and opinions that warmed his soul. On leaving him, the prince wrote him a letter, telling him who he was, and offering him an asylum in his states. His letter is a singular one; he tells him that no one knew how to read in his country, and that he would neither be admired nor persecuted. He continues: "You shall have the key of my books and my gardens; you shall see me or not as you please; you shall have a small country-house a mile from mine, where you can sow and plant just as you like; as, like you, I dislike thrones and dominations, you shall rule no one, and no one will rule you. If you accept my offers. I