_March 24, 1852._
... I have all sorts of annoyances, besides a great deal of work on
hand. In short, I have undertaken, impulsively, a piece of chivalrous
work, and you know that one should guard against yielding to impulses. I
sometimes turn over a new leaf. The substance of the matter is that
after reading the articles written for the defence of Libri, his
innocence has been completely demonstrated to me, and I am now writing
for the _Revue_ a long dissertation concerning his trial, including all
the infamous details connected with it. Pity me; one gains nothing from
such work but vituperation; but there are times when one is so shocked
by injustice that he makes a fool of himself.
When are we to visit the Museum? I am grieved to learn of the death of
some one whom you loved; but this is one more reason for us to meet
often, and to prove whether a friendship like ours is a balm for sorrow.
I agree with you in thinking that life is a foolish thing, but we must
not make it worse than it is. After all, it contains some moments of
happiness, and the satisfaction we enjoy in the remembrance of these
exceeds the dejection we feel in the recollection of our moments of
unhappiness. I experience more pleasure in recalling our friendly talks
than I have of sorrow in thinking of our quarrels. We should make ample
provision for happy recollections.