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[12] acceptable than itself. And has he not escaped toils and trials, which would perhaps—if he had lived to encounter them—have made him mourn that he was born? These are stale topics, which will not, I fear, reach the depths of your sorrow. Let me, however, urge you to renounce, as a false indulgence, what I would call the luxury of grief. Think with gladness that God has cast such a sunbeam across your path, though for a short time, and followed by clouds and darkness; and be consoled by calling to mind the present bliss of your boy, and your own sterling performance of the duties of a father. . . . I feel ashamed almost to have written what I have; it is all so tame, and commonplace, and unsatisfactory. But you have poured out your heart in that most beautiful letter; and I could not rest easy till I had tendered you my sympathy in that way and language which, for the moment, has seemed most appropriate.

Let me know that you are calm and happy, and believe me, with new ardor,

Affectionately yours,

To Judge Story, Cambridge.

London, Nov. 4, 1838.
my dear Judge,—Once more in London, this mighty concentration of human energies, wishes, disappointments, joys, and sorrows! Its vastness is inconceivable and untold. I last wrote you from Wentworth House, the proud seat of Lord Fitzwilliam. Since then I have passed over a considerable tract of country,—have seen York Minster, so venerable for its antiquity, so rich in Gothic ornament, and perambulated the walls of that ancient city; visited Hull on the eastern coast of England, seen the brass statue of William III. on horseback, which adorns its principal square, crossed the broad Humber while a hurricane was blowing, and driven by the storm sought shelter for the first time in my life in the inside of the coach,—to my joy and astonishment found that I could bear the confinement without sickness,—and arrived at Boston. How I thrilled when I saw a guide-board on the road pointing ‘to Boston!’ But I did not find that neat, trim, well-ordered place which I had always known under that name. They were engaged in their caucuses for municipal elections; and I was curious to go to the meetings of both parties. They were in different inns; the tables were covered with long pipes and mugs, and the village politicians were puffing and discussing and sipping their porter, in a style that would make a very good caricature print in the book illustrative of English manners and society, which I shall not write! I went to the venerable Guildhall; penetrated even to its kitchen, and inspected the spit, now rusty in these days of reform, on which for generations had revolved the meats that were to make glad the stomachs of the fathers of the town. From Boston went to Lynn, an ancient and commercial place of about fourteen thousand inhabitants, passing over the spot where King John lost his baggage, and over the Wash. . . .

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