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beasts.
We have, therefore, all the endless piazzas of Mr. Bentley's huge, out-squandered house, and all the fine drives in the Berkshire valleys, as much to ourselves as if there were no fashionables in New York; and, having stipulated beforehand for a separate establishment and table, we may hold out, perhaps, even after the first irruption begins.
But, as soon as the Philistines are really upon us, we shall be gone; and that will no doubt be in the course of ten days. . . . Don't tell of us, but come and see; a word I utter just as if it could have any meaning in political ears.
Well, I am sorry for you. As old Cooper said, you were really made for better things, and, when you are fairly turned out of office, it is within the limits of a miraculous possibility that you should find it out. Perhaps the revelation will come to you at Woods' Hole, which he of the Lamentations1 calls my Patmos, or, more euphoniously, ‘Ticknor's Patmos.’
. . . . Write to me, and tell me of some glimpses of sunshine in Congress; some ground for rejoicing in the country; something that shall make a man submit more willingly to bear the name of an American.
They that were in Hamburg when it was burnt up, or in Cape Francois when it was sunk, were better off than a citizen of the United States will be in London or Paris a year hence, if in the interval things go downward as fast as they have a year past.
Take that to the next Cabinet meeting, and show it to President Tyler.
They say he loves plain truth, and seldom gets it; but I rather think that, like other men, he gets as much as he wants, probably more.
Addio, caro.
You see how this gentle nature mollifies mine, and makes me gracious beyond my wont.
Always yours in good faith,
Geo. T.
Mrs. T. sends kindest regards, and will shortly prepare a pastoral for you. My daughter, too, desires to be remembered. Piccinina talks of you. We all want to see you. My next, I suppose, will be from the Classic ‘Hole,’—Jeremiah's ‘Patmos,’—a more euphuistical combination of four words than has been made since the days of Lily. I am vain of it. You will probably gather from the bucolic entusimuzy of my letter that I never was in this part of the world before. It is so. All Berkshire is new to me; but I think we shall come here often hereafter. It is more agreeable, as well as more picturesque, than I expected.
