he inseparable friend of Monsieur Thiers,
reminds me every time I see him of Byron, for there is a striking
likeness in the countenance. With great abilities, Monsieur Mignet
gives me the notion of being more fitted to a life of philosophical
research and contemplation than of action, while Monsieur Thiers
impresses me with the conviction of his being formed to fill a busy and
conspicuous part in the drama of life.

He is a sort of modern Prometheus, capable of creating and of vivifying
with the electric spark of mind; but, whether he would steal the fire
from Heaven, or a less elevated region, I am not prepared to say. He
has called into life a body--and a vast one--by his vigorous writings,
and has infused into it a spirit that will not be soon or easily
quelled. Whether that spirit will tend to the advancement of his
country or not, time will prove; but, _en attendant_, its ebullitions
may occasion as much trouble to the _powers that be_ as did the spirit
engendered by Mirabeau in a former reign.

The countenance of Monsieur Thiers is remarkable. The eyes, even
through his spectacles, flash with intelligence, and the expression of
his face varies with every sentiment he utters. Thiers is a man to
effect a revolution, and Mignet would be the historian to narrate it.

There is something very interesting in the unbroken friendship of these
two men of genius, and its constancy elevates both in my estimation.
They are not more unlike than are their respective works, both of
which, though so dissimilar, are admirable in their way. The mobility
and extreme excitability of the French, render such men as Monsieur
Thiers extremely dangerous to monarchical power. His genius, his
eloquence, and his boldness, furnish him with the means of exciting the
enthusiasm of his countrymen as surely as a torch applied to gunpowder
produces an explosion. In England these qualities, however elevated,
would fail to produce similar results; for enthusiasm is there little
known, and, when it comes forth, satisfies itself with a brief
manifestation, and swiftly resigns itself to the prudent jurisdiction
of reason. Napoleon himself, with all the glory associated with his
name--a glory that intoxicated the French--would have failed to
inebriate the sober-minded English.

Through my acquaintance with the Baron de Cailleux, who is at the head
of the Musee, I obtained permission to take Lord John Russell, Mr.
Rogers, and Mr. Luttrell, to the gall