air of Lenox, on the hills, would have any effect in
averting an annual attack of hay-fever.] Now be honest. Don't bring
any "sneeshin" down here to throw dust in our poor, simple eyes in the
valley. Much as ever we can see anything for fogs. Mind ye, I shall be
sharp, though. If you fall into any of those practices, I shall say you
brought the trick from Lenox. You may say "I-ketch-you" as much as you
please, but you won't ketch me.

To Rev. Henry W. Bellows.

SHEFFIELD, Dec. 19, 1848.

MY DEAR BELLOWS,--Now shall I heap coals of fire on your head. You
ought to have written to me forty days ago. Your letter bears date
of yesterday. I [204] received it this afternoon. I am replying this
evening. How does your brain-pan feel, with this coal upon it? "How has
it happened that there has been no communication?" Why, it has happened
from your being the most unapprehensive mortal that ever lived, or from
your having your wits whirled out of you by that everlasting New York
tornado. As to letters, I wrote the two last, though the latter was a
bit of one. As to the circumstances, my withdrawal from your society was
involuntary, and painful to me. You should have written at once to your
emeritus coadjutor, your senior friend. I have been half vexed with you,
my people quite.

There! I love you too much not to say all that. But I am not an exacting
or punctilious person, and that is one reason why we have got along so
well together 3 as well as that you are one whom nobody can know without
taking a plaguy kindness and respect for, and can't help it. And
all that you say about our past relation and intercourse I heartily
reciprocate, excepting that which does you less than justice, and me
more. As to deep talks, I really believe there is no chance for them in
Gotham. And this reminds me that my wife has just been in my study to
desire me to send a most earnest invitation to you and E. to come up
here this winter and pass a few days with us. It will be easier than you
may think at first. The New York and New Haven Railroad will be open in
a few days, and then you can be here in seven or eight hours from your
own door. Do think of it,--and more than think of it.

To the Same.

ARE n't you a pretty fellow,--worse than Procrustes,--to go about the
world, measuring people's talent and [205] promise by their noses? . . .
Why, man, Claude Lorraine and Boccaccio and Burke had "small noses;" and
Kosciusko and George Buchanan had th