p till
my return. Wise and exquisite policy of my foes,--'_Frustra Cassium
amovisti, si gliscere et vigere Brutorum emulos passurus es._'* But I
have no time to lose: farewell, my friend; God bless you; you are saved
from these storms; and even intolerance, which prevented the exercise
of your genius, preserves you now from the danger of having applied that
genius to the welfare of your country. Heaven knows, whatever my
faults, I have sacrificed what I loved better than all things--study and
pleasure--to her cause. In her wars I served even my enemy Marlborough,
in order to serve her; her peace I effected, and I suffer for it. Be it
so, I am

"'Fidens animi atque in utrumque paratus.'**

"Once more I embrace you; farewell."

* "Vainly have you banished Cassius, if you shall suffer the rivals of
the Brutuses to spread themselves and flourish."

** "Confident of soul and prepared for either fortune."

"Nay," said I, "listen to me; you shall not go alone. France is already,
in reality, my native country: there did I receive my birth; it is no
hardship to return to my _natale solum_; it is an honour to return in
the company of Henry St. John. I will have no refusal: my law case is
over; my papers are few; my money I will manage to transfer. Remember
the anecdote you told me yesterday of Anaxagoras, who, when asked where
his country was, pointed with his finger to heaven. It is applicable, I
hope, as well to me as to yourself: to me, uncelebrated and obscure; to
you, the senator and the statesman."

In vain Bolingbroke endeavoured to dissuade me from this resolution; he
was the only friend fate had left me, and I was resolved that misfortune
should not part us. At last he embraced me tenderly, and consented
to what he could not resist. "But you cannot," he said, "quit England
to-morrow night, as I must."

"Pardon me," I answered, "the briefer the preparation, the greater the
excitement, and what in life is equal to _that_?"

"True," answered Bolingbroke; "to some natures, too restless to be
happy, excitement can compensate for all,--compensate for years wasted,
and hopes scattered,--compensate for bitter regret at talents perverted
and passions unrestrained. But we will talk philosophically when we have
more leisure. You will dine with me to-morrow: we will go to the play
together; I promised poor Lucy that I would see her at the theatre,
and I cannot break my word; and an hour afterwards we will comme