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[219]

To Lord Morpeth.

Boston, Aug. 3, 1842.
my dear Morpeth,—This will find you, I trust, with a safe scalp, far away from the wigwams and council-fires of the red men. I wonder at the variety and complexity of your travels. The whole continent will be reticulated by the lines of your journeys. Quebec is imperial. How much superior to Ehrenbreitstein!—as much so as the power of England (with her zone of military music about the earth) is more imposing than that of Prussia. Quebec and Montreal both have a European air, presenting a great contrast to the wooden towns of New England.

I am anxious that your last impressions of my country should be derived from that part which may give you, I think, the most pleasure. Let me plan a short journey for you, trusting that the smiling scenes through which I would have you pass may make you forget some of your Southern and Western life. From Montreal descend Lake Champlain,—observe the beautiful boats on this lake; pass by Crown Point and Ticonderoga, places famous in the French war and that of the Revolution; then cross Lake George, a lake of silver; from Lake George to Saratoga you will pass over the Flanders, the debatable ground in American history, fought over in two wars; see Saratoga and Ballston, then return to Burlington, on Lake Champlain, and from there wind through the Green Mountains; see Montpelier, in the lap of the mountains; cross the Connecticut River, pass through what is called the ‘Gap’ in the White Mountains to Portland, Me., and thence to Boston; then, on the Western Railroad, to Berkshire, in the western part of Massachusetts; again to Trenton Falls (you will not miss another sight of them); thence back to the North River; and, descending the river, stop at Catskill and at West Point. Is this not a good plot?

Cannot you be present at the annual Commencement of Harvard University (our Cambridge), the last Wednesday in August? Story delivers a discourse on the day before, in commemoration of the second centennial anniversary of the graduation of the first class of the University. Come and hear it. This will be a literary festival, characteristic of the country, and everybody will be glad to see you. I am going, for a few days, among the hills of Berkshire with my sisters; but I shall always be within hail from Boston. Good-night.

As ever, ever yours,


To Professor Mittermaier, Heidelberg.

Boston, Aug. 4, 1842.
my dear friend,—I am ashamed that I have left your kind letter of Feb. 8 for so long a time without acknowledgment; but various calls have absorbed my time, and I now write in haste in order to introduce to you my friend, Mr. Wheeler,1 who has been for some time a tutor in Harvard


1 Charles S. Wheeler, who died at Leipsic, in 1843, at the age of twenty-six.

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