Letters to an Unknown

book I have read in five or six years; but, for all that, it is all

merely fancy. There is no depth, no solidity, no common-sense; he is a man who becomes intoxicated with his own words, and who no longer takes the trouble to think.

The twentieth volume of Thiers pleases me, as it does you. There was, to my mind, a tremendous difficulty to be met in extracting anything tangibl...