Paris, Thursday evening, December 2, 1851.

It seems to me that the final battle is being waged, but who shall win? If the President should lose, it looks as if the brave Deputies will have to yield their place to Ledru-Rollin. I have returned horribly fatigued, having met no one, apparently, but a lot of fools. The appearance of Paris reminds me of February 24, only now the soldiers strike terror into the hearts of the citizens. The military say they are confident of success, but you know how much their predictions are worth. This means a postponement of our walk.

Good-bye. Write to me, and tell me if any of your family are engaged in the struggle.