into verse, for I have felt always that I was here for the specific end of learning German, and not of pleasing myself.

Just now I am better in body and mind. My cure has been wrought by my resolving to run away for a month into Italy. Think of it — Italy! I shall see Page and Norton, and the grave of our dear little Walter. I can hardly believe that I am going, and in ten days.

What you tell me about the Crayon you may be sure fills me with very sincere regret. It does not need to tell you how much interest I took in it and you; and, what is better, my interest in it was not that merely of a friend of yours, but sprung from a conviction that it would do much for the æsthetic culture of our people. I am very sorry on every account that it is to be given up; I had hoped so much from it. It is a consolation to me to think that you will be restored to the practice instead of the criticism and exposition of Art, and that we shall get some more pictures like the one which took so strong a hold of me in the New York exhibition. I shall hope to become the possessor of one myself after I get quietly settled again at Elmwood, with the Old Man of the Sea of my first course of lectures off my shoulders. You must come and make me a visit, and I will show you some nice studies of landscape in our neighborhood, and especially one bit of primitive forest that I know within a mile and a half of our house. I have been studying like a dog-no, dogs don't study; I mean a learned pig this winter, and I think my horizon has grown wider, and that when I come back I shall be worth more to my friends. I have learned the boundaries of my knowledge, and Terra Incognita does not take up so much space on my maps. In German I have every reason to be satisfied with my progress though I should have learned more of the colloquial language if I had had spirits enough to go into any society. But I have literally seen nobody but the inmates of

But already the foreboding

our own household and my books. of Italy fills me with new life and soul. I feel as if I had been living with no outlook on my south side, and as if a wall had been toppled over which darkened all my windows in that direction. Bodily and spiritually I have suffered here with the cold. But God be thanked, it will soon be over.

My great solace or distraction has been the theatre, which is here excellent. I not only got a lesson in German, but have learned much of the technology of the stage. For historical accuracy in costume and scenery I have never seen anything comparable. An artistic nicety and scrupulousness extends itself to the most inconsidered trifles, in which so much of illusion consists, and which commonly are so bungled as to draw the attention, instead of evading it by an absorption in the universal.

If I had known that I was going to London, I should have been extremely pleased to make the acquaintance of Ruskin. But my journey thither was sudden and flighty, and I saw nobody except Hogarth, Turner, and Rembrandt. Hogarth's Marriage à la Mode, and Rembrandt's Jacob's Dream, at Dulwich College, gave me invaluable suggestions.

It will not be long now, I hope, before I see you at Elmwood

for you must make me a visit as soon as I get warm in my Italy again. It is all bergab1 now, and I shall ere long feel the swing of our Atlantic once more. The very thought revives me. We seaboard fellows cannot live long without snuffing salt water. Let me hear from you in Italy - tell me what you are painting, and all about yourself. As soon as I am myself again I shall try to make my friendship of some worth to you, but always

LIX

Charles Dickens to Mark Lemon

MY DEAR MARK:

H. W. Office, July 2, 1856.

I am concerned to hear that you are ill, that you sit down before fires and shiver, and that you have stated times for doing so, like the demons in the melodramas, and that you mean to take a week to get well in.

Make haste about it, like a dear fellow, and keep up your spirits, because I have made a bargain with Stanny and Webster that they shall come to Boulogne to-morrow week, Thursday the 10th, and stay a week. And you know how much pleasure we shall all miss if you are not among us at least for some part of the time

If you find any unusually light appearance in the air at Brighton, it is a distant refraction I have no doubt of the gorgeous and shining surface of Tavistock House, now transcendently painted. The theatre partition is put up, and is a work of such terrific solidity that I suppose it will be dug up, ages hence, from the ruins of London, by that Australian of Macaulay's who is to be impressed by its ashes. I have wandered through the spectral halls of the Tavistock mansion two nights, with feeling of the profoundest depression. I have breakfasted there, like a criminal in Pentonville, only not so well. It is more like Westminster Abbey by midnight than the lowestspirited man say you at present, for example - can well imagine.

There has been a wonderful robbery at Folkestone, by the new manager of the Pavilion, who succeeded Giovannini. He had in keeping £16,000 of a foreigner's, and bolted with it, as he supposed, but in reality with only £1400 of it. The Frenchman had previously bolted with the whole, which was the property of his mother. With him to England the Frenchman

brought a 'lady,' who was, all the time and at the same time, endeavoring to steal all the money from him and bolt with it herself. The details are amazing, and all the money

pounds excepted — has been got back.

a few

They will be full of sympathy and talk about you when I get home, and I shall tell them that I send their loves beforehand. They are all enclosed. The moment you feel hearty, just write me that word by post. I shall be so delighted to receive it. Ever, my dear boy,

Your affectionate friend.

LX

Phillips Brooks to his Brother George

DEAR GEORGE :

Thanksgiving Day, 1857.

I

As nearly as I can calculate, you are at this moment have made all due allowance for difference of longitudesitting down to the turkey and plum pudding. Allow me to take my slice with you, making my own welcome, and finding a seat where I can. What a stunner of a fowl! See John measuring it solemnly with his eye, and trying to make out whether he or it is the biggest. We won't quarrel about drumsticks. You shall have one, and I the other. What a pity the beast was n't a quadruped! To think of having dined only yesterday on cold mutton with rice for dessert, and now

my eye! do just look at that cranberry sauce. How quiet Pistols is! No matter; he is busy, and fast getting beyond the speaking point. Hullo, my plate's clear; another piece of turkey, if you please. Don't look frightened. Thanksgiving only comes once a year. Gracious! Do look at Fred. Now do be a little moderate, my dear. Don't you see how

hard Arthur is trying to keep up with you? will kill himself. Here comes the pudding!

The poor boy Father of course

proposes to have it saved till to-morrow. He has done it every Thanksgiving Day I can remember, for the last twentyfive years. But you don't! We finish it now, if we never eat again. We never have any supper, you know, on Thanksgiving Days, and we shall be all right by breakfast time. . . . Well, dinner's over, and Pistols is laid up on the sofa, and John's jacket just covers the small of his back, and Fred is trying to look as if he had n't eaten too much, and Father is looking for somebody to go to walk with him. You had better go, and I will leave much love to all, and take the next train of thought for Virginia. O reservoir !

Your loving, busy brother,

LXI

PHIL.

Phillips Brooks to his Brother William

MY DEAR WILLIAM :

Monday evening, June 16, 1862.

I am late this week, but you must lay it down to the press and rush consequent on getting home from a week's absence. All last week I was away on a Niagara trip. Mr. Coffin, my warden, was with us. We left early Monday morning, and went to New York, where we spent the day, and at five o'clock took the Hudson River cars for Albany. You know how beautiful that ride is, but I had never been over it before, and enjoyed it intensely. We spent the night in Albany at the Delavan House, and the next morning were off early by the N. Y. Central for the Falls. The ride across New York state was not particularly interesting, and we were glad to get to the Suspension Bridge in the evening. We went at once across, and up to the Clifton House, where for the first time in my life I found myself on other than Uncle Samuel's Farm. It was dark when we got there, and so I slept all night with