cle now exhibited by England, in which a party finds no
difficulty in maintaining itself in power by carrying into practice ideas
which it has always opposed, and by relying for support on its natural
enemies, is not of a nature to raise the reputation of your institutions,
or of your public men. I should have a great deal more to say to you on
this and other subjects if I were not afraid of tiring you. I leave off,
therefore, by assuring you that we are longing to hear of your recovery.
Remembrances, &c.

A. DE TOCQUEVILLE.

Cannes, December 12, 1858.

I wish, my dear friend, to reassure you myself on the false reports which
have been spread regarding my health. Far from finding myself worse than
when we arrived, I am already much better.

I am just now an invalid who takes his daily walks of two hours in the
mountains after eating an excellent breakfast. I am not, however, well.
If I were I should not long remain a citizen of Cannes.

I have almost renounced the use of speech, and consequently the society
of human beings; which is all the more sad as my wife, my sole companion,
is herself very unwell, not dangerously, but enough to make me
anxious. When I say my sole companion, I am wrong, for my eldest brother
has had the kindness to shut himself up with us for a month.

Adieu, dear Senior. A thousand kind remembrances from us to all your
party.

A. DE TOCQUEVILLE.

Cannes, March 15, 1859.

You say, my dear Senior, in the letter which I have just received, that I
like to hear from my friends, not to write to them. It is true that I
delight in the letters of my friends, especially of my English friends;
but it is a calumny to say that I do not like to answer them. It is true
that I am in your debt: one great cause is, that a man who lives at
Cannes knows nothing of what is passing. My solitary confinement, which
is bad enough in every way, makes me a bad correspondent, by depressing
my spirits and rendering every exertion painful.

Mrs. Grote, in a very kind and interesting letter, which I received from
her yesterday, says, that Lord Brougham, on his late arrival in London,
gave a lamentable description of my health. If he confined himself to
January, he was right. It is impossible to exaggerate my sufferings
during that month. But, since that time, all has changed, as if from day
to night, or rather from night to day. To talk now of what I was in
January is like making a speech about the Spanish m