nd culture, and to
whom your company would be invaluable. I do not forget the difficulty
about expense. But there are those who, like you, would be [202] glad to
go directly by Marseilles or Leghorn. It is quite true that movement is
the mischief with the purse.-Abiding in Rome or Florence, you can
live for a dollar a day. A room, or two rooms (parlor and little
sleeping-room), say near the Piazza di Spagna, or the Propaganda just
by, can be hired, with bed, etc., all to be kept in order, for three
or four pauls (thirty or forty cents, you know) a day. And you can
breakfast at a colt; any time you fancy, while wandering about, for two
pauls, and dine at a trattoria for from two to four pauls. I have more
than once dined on a bowl of soup and bread and butter for two pauls. I
hate heavy dinners. In Rome, one should always take a room in which the
sun lies. "Where the sun comes, the doctor does n't," they say there.
But you won't go before I come and see you and talk it all over with
you. Don't fail to let me know if you set seriously about it, for I
shall certainly come. The truth is, Airs. Ware should go with you. It is
true the women are very precious when it comes to casting them up in a
bill of expense, as in all things else. Does not that last clause save
me, madam? And, madam dear, I want to talk with you about this project
of William's, as much as I want to hear what he says.

About the war, dear Gulielmus, and slavery, and almost everything else
under heaven, I verily believe I think just as you do; so I need not
write. And my hand is very tired. With ten thousand blessings on you,

Yours ever,

ORVILLE DEWEY.

[203]

To his Daughter Mary.

SHEFFIELD, July 13, 1848.

DEAR MOLLY,--You're an awful miss when you're not here; what will you
be, then, when you descend upon us from the heights of Lenox,--from
the schools of wisdom, from fiction and fine writing, from tragedy and
comedy, from mountain mirrors reflecting all-surrounding beauty, down to
plain, prosaic still-life in Sheffield? I look with anxiety and terror
for the time; and, to keep you within the sphere of familiarity as
much as possible, I think it best to write sometimes; and, to adopt
the converse of the Western man's calling his bill "William," I call my
William, bill,--my Mary, Molly, thereby softening, mollifying (as I may
say) the case as much as possible.

One thing I must desire of you. You are on an experiment. [FN: To
try whether the