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[207] and Lords. Through him you may become acquainted with all the Radicals, —the Grotes, Roebuck, Charles Austin, Sir William Molesworth, Leader, &c.

You will, of course, see Kenyon, who is a very good friend of mine. In a recent letter, introducing Dickens, he inquires after you. Dr. Bowring lives quite retired. He may invite you to breakfast. I often dined with Senior, or met him at dinner. He has remarkable powers, but is cold and logical. Who would have thought that he was the most interesting reviewer of Walter Scott's novels? Perhaps you have letters to Mr. Bates, You will find him a person of sterling honesty and sense. His son-in-law, Mr. Van de Weyer, the Belgian Minister, has a great deal of talent.. . .

Julia is still young enough to be happy. She has a bright, cheerful nature, from which I expect much; and a natural grace and sensibility which will temper her womanhood with great attractions.

Ever and ever yours,


To Henry W. Longfellow, Marienberg.1

Boston, May 14, 1842.
All hail, my dear Henry, and a health to you across the sea! . . . Prescott was sorry to miss you when you called. Full, true, warm soul he is. Wherever he passes he leaves a path of sunshine, and flowers spring up in his foot-prints—unlike those spirits that move scythe-like across the field, cutting down by their harsh touch every thing that has put forth so much as a green leaf, and making a track of pointed stubble.

Your parting note to me I value much. I have read it over and over again, to find some new treasure, some unexplored line or phrase with some new, rich vein. We miss you constantly in our accustomed walks; and it seems to me at times, while sitting at the desk where I now write, as if your footfall would soon break on my ears. Felton was here yesterday; arrived between ten and eleven in the forenoon, and laughed very loud. Prescott, who came in and helped him for a moment, read a capital letter I had received the day before from Lord Morpeth; with his hat on, sat in the rocking-chair in Hillard's room, and then in my large arm-chair; made a sortie for half an hour; then returned; and then went with me to the cellar where we last broke bread together.

I do not visit the Ticknors now, and feel that our separation is growing broader every day. I have been true to them. Why, then, should I feel troubled? And yet friendship, sympathy, and kindness are a peculiar necessity of my nature, and I can have few losses greater than the weakening of these bonds.

Sunday, May 15.

Another night of sleep. I am a day older, with gray hairs shooting forth with startling growth. We dined at Prescott's at five o'clock,—William and Charles Amory, W. H. Gardiner, Dr. Robbins, and myself. There was a good deal of pleasant conversation.

1 a hydropathic establishment at Boppard on the Rhine.

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