think you quite understate the amount of public virtue in France. The
difficulties of statesmanship here are enormous. I do not accuse even M.
Thiers of want of public virtue. What he has wanted, has been length and
breadth of view--purely an intellectual defect--and his petty, puny
_tracasseries_ destroyed the Republican Assembly just as it destroyed
the throne of Louis Philippe, in spite of his own intentions.

There is a conflict of ideas in France, which we have no notion of in
England, but we ought to understand that it does not involve the failing
of _principle_, in the elemental moral sense. Be just to France, dear
friend, you who are more than an Englishwoman--a Mrs. Jameson!

Everything is perfectly tranquil in Paris, I assure you--theatres full
and galleries open as usual. At the same time, timid and discouraged
persons say, 'Wait till after the elections,' and of course the public
emotion will be a good deal excited at that time. Therefore, judge for
yourself. For my own part I have not had the slightest cause for alarm
of any kind--and there is my child! Judge....

The weather is exquisite, and I am going out to walk directly. It is
scarcely possible to bear a fire, and some of our friends sit with the
window open. We are all well.

This should have gone to you yesterday, but we had visitors who talked
past post time. The delay, however, has allowed of my writing more than
I meant to have done in beginning this letter. Robert's best love.

Your ever affectionate
BA.

Robert says that according to the impression of the wisest there can be
no danger. Don't wait till after the elections. The time is most
interesting, and it is well worth your while to come and see for
yourself.

* * * * *

_To Mrs. Martin_

[Paris,] 138 Avenue des Champs-Elysees:
December 11, [1851].

To show how alive I am, dearest Mrs. Martin, I will tell you that I have
just come home from a long walk to the Tuileries. We took a carriage to
return, that's true. Then yesterday I was out, besides, and last
Saturday, _the 6th_, we drove down the boulevards to see the field of
action on the terrible Thursday (the only day on which there was any
fighting of consequence), counting the holes in the walls bored by the
cannon, and looking at the windows smashed in. Even then, though the
asphalte was black with crowds, the quiet was absolute, and most of the
shops reopened. On Sunday the theatres were as