ve without a future, and who expect
to remain where fate puts me; for I may stay at my country-place all
winter, if I can have all the rooms heated. Sometimes the wind seems to
carry the house off, and the snow, I am told, is of frightful depth. But
it requires little courage to surmount these obstacles. On the contrary,
these great effects of nature are sometimes not without their charms.
Adieu. Do not entirely forget me. Believe me, your friendship has done
me good. You know what a comfort a friendly voice from one's native
country is, when it comes to us in misfortune and isolation. Be kind
enough to tell me that I am unjust if I complain too much of my destiny,
and that I have still some friends left.

"HORTENSE."

Just about this time M. de Chateaubriand, the illustrious friend of
Madame Recamier, was quite insultingly dismissed from the ministry for
not advocating a law of which the king approved. The disgrace of the
minister created a very deep sensation. In allusion to it, Hortense
wrote to Madame Recamier, from Arenemberg, Sept. 11, 1824, as follows:

"I expected to hear from you on your return from Naples, and as I have
not heard, I know not where to find you. I have fancied that you were on
the road to Paris, because I always imagine that we go where the heart
goes, and where we can be useful to our friends. It is curious to think
what a chain the affections are. Why, I myself, secluded from the world,
stranger to every thing, am sorry to see so distinguished a man shut out
from public life. Is it on account of the interest you have made me take
in that quarter, or is it, rather, because, like a Frenchwoman, I love
to see merit and superiority honored in my country?

"At present I am no longer alone. I have my cousin with me, the Grand
Duchess of Baden, a most accomplished person. The brilliancy of her
imagination, the vivacity of her wit, the correctness of her judgment,
together with the perfect balance of all her faculties, render her a
charming and a remarkable woman. She enlivens my solitude and softens my
profound grief. We converse in the language of our country. It is that
of the heart, you know, since at Rome we understood each other so well.

"I claim your promise to stop on the way at Arenemberg. It will always be
to me very sweet to see you. I can not separate you from one of my
greatest sorrows; which is to say that you are very dear to me, and that
I shall be happy to hav