human
No one more heartily admires the spirit and good-humour of our friend, Monsieur Odeluc, than myself: no one more enjoys being animated by the hilarity of his temper, and carried away by the hopeful enthusiasm which makes him the dispenser of happiness that he is. But I cannot always sympathise in his bright anticipations. I own I cannot to-day. He may be right. God grant he be so! But I cannot take Monsieur Odeluc's word for it, when words so different are spoken elsewhere. There are observers at a distance--impartial lookers-on, who predict (and I fear there are signs at home which indicate) that our position is far from secure--our prospects far other than serene. There are those who believe that we are in danger from other foes than the race of Oge; and facts have arisen--but enough. This is not the time and place for discussion of that point. Suffice it now that, as we all know, observers at a distance can often see deeper and farther than those involved in affairs; and that Mirabeau has said--and what Mirabeau says is, at least, worth attention--Mirabeau has said of us, in connection with the events of last October, `They are sleeping on the margin of Vesuvius, and the first jets of the volcano are not sufficient to awaken them.' In compliment to Mirabeau, he concluded, smiling, and bowing to Monsieur Brelle,