V 



u± msiory. Kossuth, when I bu- 

 tered, was standing at his writing desk. I could 

 scarcely .believe that the man was 83 years of 

 age. He stood as upright as a dart. His eye 

 glanced round the room like that of an eagle. 

 His hair is white, and his beard and mous- 

 tache are nearly white, hut they are not 

 whiter than those of most men at 60; 

 and when we had interchanged salutations and 

 1 had asked after his health, he told me that he 

 was at present not as well as usual, but added, 

 with all his old fire: "I wish I were now climb- 

 ing up Mont Blanc or any of the higher Alns as 

 some years ago; but I am unequal now to' the 

 task. And here he expanded— or as the French 

 would say, gonfla— his chest. "You know 1 am 

 a keen botanist, and like to gather rare plants. 

 )^->-^^ slyir^-^s, had a great passion for flowers." 

 [Life (London). 



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