an air of repose and rationality about it, that it is perfectly
insufferable to me. Yes, the bow of that cravat exasperates me;
the two ends are always exactly the same length, and have an effect
of INDERANGEABILITY which nearly drives me mad. Not that this
famous bow is elegant. No, a thousand times no! but it has an
exasperating accuracy. And in this, behold the true story of your
soul. Every night when you go to bed you put it in its proper
folds; every morning you unfold it carefully without rumpling it!
And you dare to plume yourself on your wisdom! What does this
pretended wisdom prove? Nothing, unless it be that you have poor
blood, and that you were fifty years old when you were born. There
is, however, one passion which no one will deny that you possess.
You understand me,--man of the gilded tongue and the viper's
heart,--you have a passion common to many others! But, hold, in
commencing this letter, I intended to conceal from you that I had
discovered everything. I feared it would give you too much
pleasure to learn that I know.--Oh! why can't I make you stand
before me now this moment! I should confound you! how I would
force you to fall at my feet and cry for pardon!

"Oh, my dear flowers, my Maltese cross, my verbenas, my white
starred fox, and you, my musk rosebush, and above all my beautiful
variegated carnation, which ought to be opening to-day! Was it
then for him,--was it to rejoice the eyes of this insolent
parasite, that I planted, watered, and tended you with so much
care? Beloved flowers, will you not share my hate? Send out from
each of your cups, from each of your corollas, some devouring
insect, some wasp with pointed sting, some furious horse-fly, and
let them all together throw themselves upon him, harass him and
persecute him with their threatening buzzing, and pierce his face