A few months later he writes thus of his various occupations, and especially of his sketch of his friend Haven:— and careless; and dined with us unceremoniously after it was over, as playful as a kitten.1 This is what I think may be called a great man.
To C. S. Daveis, Portland.Boston, February 24, 1827.Sickness, much labor, and many cares, my dear Charles, have prevented me from writing to you or to anybody else, for a long time, except on business that could not be postponed. But I begin to feel a little relieved. . . . The Athenaeum, the College, the Hospital, Mr. Bowditch's office,2 and many other things have made such constant demands on my time, that I have been more teased than I ever was in my life, and have hardly known a quiet hour, except in A.'s room, since last November. Among other things which have much occupied and a good deal