Real thoughts would be a
divining-rod. If, when a man calls upon me, he could, teach me something
upon which he knows more than I do, or I could do the same for him,
neither of us would be bored. [324] Do I not talk like a book? But, to
be serious, so much am I bored with general society, that I am inclined
to say I had rather live as I do here in Sheffield. Is n't Cummington a
blessed place for that?

But alas! it don't save you from being bored with letters,--vide, for
example, this, perhaps, which I am now writing.

But, O excellent man! though you never bored me in talk, you have lately
bored into me; I will tell you how.

A month or two ago a book agent came to me, asking me to subscribe for
"Bryant's Pictorial America." I was astonished, and said, "Do you mean
to say that Mr. Bryant's name will appear on the title page of this
work, and that it was written by him?"--"Certainly," was the reply;
"not that he has written the whole, but much of it." I could n't believe
that, and was declining to subscribe, when my wife--that woman has a
great respect for you--called me aside and said, "I wish you would take
this book." So I turned back and said, "My wife wants this book, and I
will subscribe for it." Well, yesterday the first volume came to hand;
and, turning to the title page, I found edited by W. C. B., which means
not that you wrote the book, but seem to father it. Next year a man
will come along with "Bryant's Popular History of the United States
of America," and the year after, for aught I know, with "Specimens of
American Literature," by W. C. B. I do seriously beseech you, my friend,
to look into this. These people take advantage of your good-nature; and
ill-nature will spring up about it, if this kind of thing goes on. With
love to J., and hoping to see you,

Yours ever,

ORVILLE DEWEY.

[325] To the Same.

ST. DAVID'S, Sept. 14, 1874.

DEAR FRIEND,--It was very amiable in you to write to me on getting home;
and, not to be outdone, I am going to write to you; and for the both sad
and amusing story you repeated of Mr. G., I will give you a recital of
the same mixed character.

I have been this evening to hear the Hampton Singers. Two of them, by
the bye, are our guests,--for we offered to relieve the company of all
expenses if they would come down here,--and very well behaved young
men they are. The tunes they sing, remember, come from the tobacco and
cotton fields of the South. I asked them how man