what a mystery
of Providence, that this terrible burden--I had almost said
millstone--should ever have been hung around the neck of this
Confederation!

To William Cullen Bryant, Esq.

SHEFFIELD, June 7, 1850.

MY DEAR SIR,--You should n't have lived in New York, and you should n't
have been master of the French language, and you should n't have been
Mr. Bryant, and, in fact, you should n't have been at all, if you
expected to escape all sorts of trouble in this world! Since all these
conditions pertain to you, see the inference, which, stated in the most
skilfully inoffensive way I am able, stands or runs thus:

[Here followed a request that Mr. Bryant would make [219] some inquiries
concerning a French teacher who had applied, and the letter continued:]

Now, in fine, if you don't see that all this letter is strictly
logical,--an inference from the premises at the beginning,--I am sorry
for you; and if you do see it, I am sorry for you. So you are pitied at
any rate.

The 19th draws nigh. If any of the Club are with you and Mrs. Bryant
in coming up, do not any of you be so deluded as to listen to any
invitation to dine at Kent, but come right along, hollow and merry,
and--I don't say I promise you a dinner, but what will suffice for
natzir, anyhow. Art, to be sure, is out of the question, as it is when
I subscribe myself, and ourselves, to you and Mrs. Bryant, with
affectionate regard,

Yours truly,

ORVILLE DEWEY.

To Rev. William Ware.

SHEFFIELD, Oct. 13, 1850.

"THAT'S what I will," I said, as I took up your letter just now, to
read it again, thinking you had desired me to write immediately. "How
affectionate!" thinks I to myself; "that must have been a good letter
that I wrote him last; I really think some of my letters must be pretty
good ones, after all; I hate conceit,--I really believe my tendency is
the other way,-but, hang it! who knows but I may turn out, upon myself,
a fine letter after all? But at any rate Ware loves me, does n't he?
He wants me to write a few lines, at least, very soon. It's evident he
would be pleased to have me, pleased as the Laird of Ellangowan said of
the king's commission,--good honest gentle-[220] man, he can't be more
pleased than I am!" But oh! the slips of those who are shodden with
vanity! I read on, thinking it was a nice letter of yours,--feeling
something startled, to be sure, at the compellation, as if you were
mesmerise, and had got an insight (calls me