a month or a year.
The result is now fixed.
There have been times when I have seen before me nothing but gloom; I now see the light.
In a few days I shall report myself to my physician in Paris, who will then review my case, and tell me if I have further sacrifices to make.
All autumn elections are now over, and I trust the good cause has found fit representatives.
Oh, it is a good cause Looking at it from this distance, and at this place, I feel that it is worthy of the best energies of us all. No nobler cause has arisen in history.
I long to be able again to serve it. Should we meet now, you would be astonished at my ignorance of Massachusetts affairs.
For more than three months I have seen no Massachusetts newspaper except a solitary “Liberator” kindly sent to me from Paris.
Perhaps this has been best for my health, and yet I have often wished to know what was going on in our well-beloved Commonwealth.
Of the Worcester convention I have read no report.
I suppose Charles F. Adams is now in his father's seat.
This must tell for the cause everywhere, as his presence will tell for it incalculably on the floor of Congress.
All alone I gave three cheers on the night of the election, and startled the streets of Munich.
In this country there has been a constant snow-storm, which has outdone all that I have ever seen of snow at this season.
At Munich there were six inches in the streets,—
And dark as winter was the flow
Excuse this scrawl, which I write in the public room of an humble inn while two Germans near me are discussing poetry and sipping coffee.
Of Iser rolling rapidly.
To Dr. Howe
, from the steamer on the Rhine
, November 10:
In my rapid rambles I have enjoyed much of nature and art. Switzerland every moment, in every mountain, hill, lake, river, valley, and field, filled me with delight.
The North of Italy left a painful impression, for everywhere were white-coated Austrians.
Germany more than satisfied me by its prevailing intelligence and civilization.
I have made many little pilgrimages,—to Brescia, because there was the original of Thorwaldsen's Day and night to Verona, because it sheltered Dante in his exile; to Vicenza, because it was the home of the architect Palladio; and to Worms, because of Luther.
These days have been sweet and happy.
Everywhere I have taken to the pictures, and also to the engravings.
The gallery at Dresden is most charming.
No building or institution has impressed me so much as the emperor's stalls at Vienna, with seven hundred horses stalled in a palace.
I left with admiration of the palatial structure, vast in extent, and of the horses, which were most beautiful in every respect, but with a poignant conviction of the injustice on which it is founded.
I saw how this was all for the luxury of one man, and in this seemed to be typified the Austrian empire.
Surely it cannot last.
At least it has my malediction.
With the downfall of Napoleon it will crumble in pieces.
During his journey, particularly since leaving Aix, he had been sensible of constant improvement, with increasing strength