We must learn to submit with grace to commit the follies which depend upon character. There are many vices which do not deprive us of friends,—there are many virtues which prevent our having any. In reading over the memoirs of the reign of Louis Quatorze, we find many things in the worst manners of that day, which are wanting in the very best society of our own. I remember having, in my youth, been amused at the resolution of one of my friends to give up the society of the demoiselles de l’opéra, to which he was much addicted, in consequence of his having made the discovery that there existed among these girls as much falsehood and hypocrisy as amongst honest women. Certain women can find buyers for their charms, who would find no one to take them were they to be had for nothing. I remember having often been told in my youth that the love of glory was a virtue. Strange must be that virtue which requires the aid of every vice. There are two things to which we never grow accustomed,—the ravages of time, and the injustice of our fellow men. The written memoirs which a man leaves after him _pour servir à l’histoire de sa vie_, and above all, _pour servir à l’histoire_ of his vanity, always remind me of the story of that saint, who left by will a hundred thousand crowns to the Church, to pay for his canonization. To succeed in the world, it is much more necessary to possess the penetration to discover who is a fool than to discover who is a clever man. PRINCE TALLEYRAND’S OPINION OF FOX. (_A Fragment from the Prince’s Memoirs._) January 15th, 1807. I have just heard of the death of Mr. Fox. It is now fifteen years since I was introduced to him by Mr. Ogilvie, the husband of his aunt, the Duchess of Leinster. It was at his own house, in South-street, and, I think, in June, 1791. Shortly before his death, false reports led him to form an unjust opinion of me; yet my regret for his loss is not the less deep and sincere, and I feel a firm conviction that, had his life been spared, he would have rendered me justice.