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[107] send up its richest treasures—cellar, did I say? The grottosshall afford their most icy wines; and with him we will try to find, amidst these thick woods and precipitous descents, some remains of that noble city which was so long a match for Rome. In our garden we will show him a tomb with the fasces still boldly visible, where reposes the dust of a consul of the Republic! How those ancient Romans did build! Not for themselves, nor for their children simply; but for generations. Stimulate Felton to come abroad. If he comes, I am fully persuaded he will find his mind filled, his knowledge confirmed and enlightened, and his ambition aroused to do something that we shall all be proud of. How I shall rejoice to know that he has—

‘Shipped himself all aboard of a ship,
     The foreign countries for to see!’

Here, in our monastic retreat, we speculate upon his advent, and the burst of glorious emotions that he will feel; and then, his laugh! I hear it now: it has crossed the lake, and its echoes are rumbling along its rocky margins.

How pleased I shall be on my return to talk over with you the beautiful things of the Old World,—the skies of Italy, looking down upon fields and sites studded with breathing associations; the pictures and the sculpture; the remains of ancient glory; the verses of poets; the sayings of wise men, and the dark eyes of women. Ah! how the live-long day would be shortened to me, and what sunlight would be let into the dark places of my future pilgrimage! My soul will long for European sympathy,—for some one who has seen the things that I have seen, and who will join with me in reproducing them to our eager imaginations. And I look forward with hope to renewing our former intercourse under your happy roof.

. . . I thank you for all the kind things you have written about me to Greene. I have found him a most valuable friend. He is quite devoted to literature, and is one of the most accomplished persons I have ever met. He is full of honorable ambition, and for two years has been devoting himself to a great subject, which will occupy fifteen or twenty years more of his life.1 That is good. They build for immortality who calmly dedicate to a work so much time. I have written to Hillard about an American sculptor at Rome,—Mr. Thomas Crawford,—who is full of merit, and only wants some slight notice or patronage to have the fullest success. Greene and myself both take the greatest interest in him, and wish you and other friends to do something for him. If you cannot order a statue, you can at least write an article. Read my letter to Hillard about him, and then do your best. When you hear from me again,—or, rather, when I hear from you,—I shall be among the Tedeschi lurchi,as Dante calls the children of the Black Forest. Good-by. Success be with you!

Ever affectionately yours,

1 A ‘History of Italy,’ planned, but not executed.

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