But I never look back upon the early period of my life, but I turn from the picture with disgust. At fifteen, through caprice and folly, I was thrown into the power of one who was a pompous coxcomb, with youth, beauty, and a good disposition, all to be so squandered! The connection was perdition to me in every way; my heart was good, but accustomed to hear and see everything that was mean and selfish, I tried to shut it to the calls of humanity, and used my reason to teach me to hate mankind. Fortune smiled, and made me ample amends for seven or eight years of suffering, by making me know the most favoured of her sons. At Florence, in 1794, I began to think there were exceptions to my system of misanthropy, and every hour from that period to this (’97), which now sees me the happiest of women, have I continued to wonder and admire the most wonderful union of benevolence, sense, and integrity in the character of the excellent being whose faith is pledged with mine. Either he has imparted some of his goodness to me, or the example of his excellence has drawn out the latent good I had--as certainly I am a better person and a more useful member of society than I was in my years of misery. _November 1st, ’97._--The peace with Emperor and the Republic is certain, and a _guerre à mort_ between this island and all the vast power of the brave, conquering French. How this country can get out of the _mauvais pas_ it is in remains to be seen. I think it is, from the obstinacy and folly of the Government, lost, and that completely by its own fault. Le bien nous le faisons, le mal c’est la fortune; On a toujours raison, le destin toujours tort. Unjust as mankind is, it can hardly rest the blame of our destruction upon Fortune. _À propos_ of the simple, philosophical La Fontaine, I either read or heard a touching trait of his simplicity lately. He was wise enough to despise money, and spent all he had from not knowing its value or caring for its production. When reduced to nothing he lived with a friend, who loved him and supplied the very few wants he had. This friend died. One who had known La Fontaine at his house immediately went to invite him to come and live with him. He met La Fontaine on the road to his _château_, and upon hearing the invitation the poet replied ‘J’y allais.’ The _naïveté_ of his reply is very striking: to a mind like his the accepting money was no dependence, he wanted it not for luxuries, but for existence. He paints his own character in his epitaph.