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[217] fifty-four miles from Havre. I inquired after news, and particularly from England; to which his reply was, tout est tranquille,—his idea of news seeming to resolve itself into the question of peace or war.

Dec. 27. Still in Havre Roads, and anchored within three miles of the city. Adverse winds have disappointed our expectations, and doomed us to a longer imprisonment. The city may be dimly descried beneath a heavy mist; but every thing is so indistinct that I cannot form any definite idea of its size or general appearance. To-night I sleep on the waters of France.

He wrote to his sister Mary, the 27th, giving an account of the voyage, and expressing a brother's interest in her studies:—

Before leaving New York I intended to write you, and say a few words on your studies and education in other respects, which I felt assured you would not be unwilling to receive from an elder brother. But the multitude of letters which I felt called upon to write, and which kept me engaged into the watches of the morning, saved you from the homily. You will not forget what I have told you, either with regard to study, or, what is more important than study, health. I need not here particularize what I have said. Try to understand every thing as you proceed; and cultivate a love for every thing that is true, good, and pure. I need not exhort you to set a price upon every moment of time; your own convictions, I have no doubt, have taught you that minutes are like gold filings, too valuable to be slighted,— for a heap of these will make an ingot. Give my love to mother, and all the family. Tell George to write me a brisk, news-full letter.

Your affectionate brother,


Dec. 28, 1837. At length in Havre, with antiquity staring at me from every side. At four o'clock this morning weighed anchor, and drifted with the tide and a gentle wind to the docks; a noble work, contrived for the reception of vessels, and bearing the inscription of An IX. Bonaparte 1er Consul,—the labor of this great man meeting me on the very threshold of France. Dismissed from the custom house we went to the Hotel de New York, where a smiling French woman received us, and we were shown each of us to a chamber. The house was small and narrow, and the stairs composed of tiles; but the chamber into which I was conducted harmonized with my anticipations of a French apartment. The room was of moderate size, with a floor of hexagon tiles partially covered with a neat rug-like carpet; with a bed plump and neat as imagination could picture, with a crimson coverlet and curtains; with curtains to the window of linen with a border of red, and with two engravings in the room of some of the glorious scenes of the French Republic. The whole was un-American. I should have known that I was in a foreign place, even if the reality of a sea-voyage had not given me the completest assurance of it. My apartment taken, for which I am to pay three francs per day, I at once escaped to view the city. And here I felt a

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