My dear friend, I am not surprised at your regret; my own is very keen. Throughout his whole life Sigismond Krasinski was obliged to conceal his true self. Out of regard for his father, who was always a pitiful courtier of success, he denied himself the liberty of saying what he thought, acknowledging what he wrote, or showing to whom he was attached. I was one of those whom he supported by his zealous co-operation. You knew him as a poet; he had become a politician, and seemed destined to exercise a great influence. His loss is irreparable. To me he was a friend and a brother-in-arms. His widow, his two sons--of twelve and thirteen, and his daughter, of seven, are here. She is occupied in collecting all her husband's writings, with the intention of publishing all that is of value. She thinks, and rightly, that a judicious selection of his letters would be especially interesting as containing the secret of his life--a secret which he guarded so carefully. If, therefore, you will send me what you have, or bring them when you come here in a month's time, you will oblige both his widow and friends. His sons had never been separated from him--which will assure you that their early education has been well cared for. Their mother proposes that they should continue their studies here, attending a college, and having lessons in Polish history and literature, which can be had here better than in Poland. So it is settled that we are to have a congress! But what will it do? What can be done in such a matter in so short a time? The 'Moniteur' has rightly pointed out that it is necessary to 'study the questions.' For that, time is especially wanted. It would need something like a council sitting through years, reigns, wars, to bring about salutary and lasting results. I am told that nowadays everything must go by steam--this, as well as the rest. To which, I answer that the result will be nothing but water mixed with blood....