’We repeat that we are not sanguine, that we do not expect the tranquil, uninterrupted progress which would be the result of the timely concession on the part of the sovereigns, and of the forbearance and moderation on the part of their subjects, which, if they could profit by the lessons of history, would be adopted by both parties.  The only lesson, indeed, which history teaches is, that she teaches none either to subjects or to sovereigns.  But we do trust that when the ruler and his people are allowed to settle their own affairs between one another, they will come from time to time to coarse and imperfect, but useful arrangements of their differences.  Rational liberty may advance slowly and unequally; it may sometimes be arrested, it may sometimes be forced back, but its march in every decennial period will be perceptible.  Like an oak which has grown up among storms, its durability will be in proportion to the slowness of its progress.’

CORRESPONDENCE.

Tocqueville, June 30, 1855.

I have only just arrived here, my dear Senior, after wandering for nearly a month from friend to friend all through the Touraine and the Maine.  As you may think, I am, on returning home after so long an absence, overpowered with trifling business.  I cannot, therefore, comply to-day with your request and write to you the letter you ask for:  I will write it after much thought and at length.  The subject is well worthy of the trouble.  Shall I at the same time send back to you the conversation which I have corrected, and in what way?  The post would be very unsafe and expensive.  Give me, therefore, your instructions on this point.  But above all, give us news of yourselves and of all our friends.

My wife has borne the journey better than I expected, and the delight we feel in finding ourselves here once more will completely restore her.

This delight is really very great and in proportion to the annoyance of wandering about as we have done for three years without ever finding a place which entirely suited us.

As to public news, I have heard none since I left Paris.  The only spot which a single ray of light can ever reach is Paris.  All the rest is in profound darkness.  If you hear anything important, pray tell me.

Adieu, dear Senior.  Remember me to Mrs. and Miss Senior, and believe in our long and very sincere affection,

A. DE TOCQUEVILLE.

Tocqueville, July 25, 1855.

I wrote to you yesterday, my dear Senior, a long letter according to my promise.

But when I read it over I felt that it was absurd to send such a letter by the post, especially to a foreigner, and I burnt it.

Since the assault of the 18th,[1] the interference of the police in private correspondence has become more active.  Many of my friends as well as I myself have perceived it.  More letters have been kept back and more have been stopped.  Two of mine have been lost.  You may remember that two letters from me failed to reach you, three years ago.  The danger is greater in the country, where handwritings are known, than in Paris.  You advise me to put my letters into a cover directed to your Embassy, which will forward them.  But this is no security.  If a letter be suspected, it is easy to open and re-seal it, and still easier simply to suppress it.