ction of the wind, or the attitude of certain of his brother-writers whom he sometimes followed, and occasionally opposed. Clerambault could never cure himself of a childlike trust in anyone who came to him, and he allowed himself to be touched;--besides, the press of his country had not spoiled him of late, so he poured out the inmost thoughts of his heart, while Thouron took it all in with the deepest interest.
An acquaintance thus closely formed could not, of course, stop there; letters were exchanged, in which one spoke, and the other led him on. Thouron persuaded Clerambault to put his ideas in the form of little popular pamphlets, which he undertook to distribute among the working classes. Clerambault hesitated, and refused at first. The partisans of the reigning order and injustice pretend hypocritically to disapprove of the secret propaganda of a new truth; Clerambault saw no harm in it, when no other way was possible. (All persecuted faiths have their catacombs.) But he did not feel himself suited to such a course of action. It was more his part to say what he thought and take the consequences, and he felt sure that the word would spread of itself, without his hawking it about. He would have blushed to admit it, but perhaps a secret instinct held him back from the offers of service made him by this eager "drummer." But he could not altogether restrain his zeal. Thouron published in his paper a sort of Apologia for Clerambault. He told of his visits, and their conversations; and he explained and paraphrased the thoughts of the poet. Clerambault was astonished when he read them, he hardly knew his own ideas again, but nevertheless, he could not altogether deny them, for, buried among Thouron's commentaries, he found literal and accurate quotations from his letters. These, however, were even more confusing; the same words and phrases, grafted on other contexts, took on an accent and a colour that he had not given them. Add that the censor, in his zeal for the safety of the country,
