a letter,
and it appears to me that you have shuffled in your answer. I
merely wish to know if there is a letter; because I am at present
out in my study of her character. It seems monstrous that she
should never have written! Don't you view it in that light? To be
ready to break with me, without one good-bye!--it's gratifying, but
I am astonished; for so gentle and tender a creature, such as I knew
her, never existed to compare with her. Ce qui est bien la preuve
que je ne la connaissais pas! I thought I did, which was my error.
I have a fatal habit of trusting to my observation less than to my
divining wit; and La Rochefoucauld is right: 'on est quelquefois un
sot avec de l'esprit; mais on ne Pest jamais avec du jugement.'
Well! better be deceived in a character than doubt it.

"This will soon be over. Then back to the dear old dusky chambers,
with the pick and the axe in the mine of law, till I strike a gold
vein, and follow it to the woolsack. I want peace. I begin to hate
pleading. I hope to meet Death full-wigged. By my troth, I will
look as grimly at him as he at me. Meantime, during a vacation, I
will give you holiday (or better, in the February days, if I can
spare time and Equity is dispensed without my aid), dine you, and
put you in the whirl of Paris. You deserve a holiday. Nunc est
bibendum! You shall sing it. Tell me what you think of her
behaviour. You are a judge of women. I think I am developing
nerves. In fact, work is what I need--a file to bite. And send me
also the name of this man who has made the bargain--who is to be her
husband. Give me a description of him. It is my duty to see that
he has principle; at least we're bound to investigate his character,
if it's really to go on. I wonder whether you will ever perceive
the comedy of, life. I doubt whether a man is happier when he does
perceive it. Perhaps the fact is, that he has by that time lost his
power of laughter; except in the case of here and there a very
tremendous philosopher.

"I believe that we comic creatures suffer more than your tragic
personages. We, do you see, are always looking to be happy and
comfortable; but in a tragedy, the doomed wretches are
liver-complexioned from the opening act. Their laughter is the owl:
their broadest smile is twilight. All the menacing horrors of an
eclipse are ours, for we have a sun over u