IV.
Paris, March 1, 1832.
Events in England have for some time had special claims on our attention. We must finally admit that the open enmity of an absolute king is less dangerous than the equivocal friendship of constitutional John Bull. The folk-murdering[1] intrigues of the English aristocracy step forth, threateningly enough, into the clear light of official day, and the fogs of London scantly conceal the subtle snares and knots which connect the network of the protocols of the Conference with the parliamentary slip-nooses. Diplomacy has there watched more actively than ever[2] its hereditary interests, and spun more industriously than ever the most destructive webs, and Monsieur de Talleyrand seems to be at one and the same time araignée et mouche—"both spider and fly." Can it be that the veteran diplomatist is not so crafty as of old, when he, a second Hephaistos, caught the mighty
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