I called yesterday morning on L---- to execute your commission, but did not find him at home. Instead of him, I found to my great joy a letter from you, which I was so impatient to read, that I set myself down in his room, and read it attentively two or three times. Your affection, which strives to spare me everything disagreeable, and dwells only upon those subjects which can give me pleasure, I acknowledge most gratefully. But you must not spare me more than you are convinced you can do without detriment to our common interests. You estimate my letters far more highly than they deserve; but you may imagine that, in my eyes, it is a very amiable fault in you to overvalue me thus. Love paints the smallest merit in magic colours. I will, however, do myself the justice to believe that you, who have had such ample opportunities of knowing me, may find in me qualities which shrink from the rude touch of the world. This consoled me,--but your expression "that all you wrote appeared to you so incoherent, that you thought the grief of parting had weakened your intellects," gave me great pain. Do I then want phrases? How much more delightful is that natural, confidential talk, which flows on without constraint and without effort, and _therefore_ expresses itself admirably. I am particularly delighted at your sentiments concerning what I tell you; they are ever exactly such as I expect and share. Accompany your friend to the capital:--it will amuse you, and at the same time you will find many opportunities of promoting our interests. 'Les absens ont tort;' never forget that. I must disapprove B----'s levity. He has no solicitude about his reputation, though he be in fact an angel of virtue and benevolence; he who cares not what is said of him,--perhaps even laughs at it,--will soon find that the malignity of men has left him in the same condition as to reputation as Peter Schlemil was with regard to his shadow. At first he thought it nothing to forego a thing so unsubstantial: but in the end he could scarcely endure existence without it. Only in the deepest solitude, far from all the world, striding restlessly with his seven-league boots from the north pole to the south, and living for science alone, did he find some tranquillity and peace. At the conclusion of your letter I see but too clearly that melancholy gains the upper hand,--and I could say something on that subject too,--'mais il faut du courage.' In every life there are periods of trial, moments when the bitterest drops in the cup must be drained. If the sun do but illumine the evening, we will not murmur at the noontide heat.