tion amidst the mad people; and the Emperor of Russia has
crossed the Pruth, and intends to make a tour of Turkey.

"All this appears to me little better than idle, restless vanity. O
my friend, what a fuss and a pother we are all making, we little
flies who are going round on the great wheel of time! To-day we are
flickering and buzzing about, our little bits of wings glittering in
the sunshine, and to-morrow we are safe enough in the little crevice
at the back of the fireplace, or hid in the folds of the old
curtain, shut up, stiff and torpid, for the long winter. What do you
say to that profound reflection?

"I struggle against the lassitude which besets me, and strive in
vain to be either sensible or jocose. I had better say farewell."

On Christmas day, 1854, he writes in rather flagging spirits, induced
by ill health:--

"I have owed you a letter for these many months, my good friend. I
am afraid to think _how_ long, lest the interest on the debt should
have exceeded the capital, and be beyond my power to pay.

"You must be good-natured and excuse me, for I have been ill--very
frequently--and dispirited. A bodily complaint torments me, that has
tormented me for the last two years. I no longer look at the world
through a rose-colored glass. The prospect, I am sorry to say, is
gray, grim, dull, barren, full of withered leaves, without flowers,
or if there be any, all of them trampled down, soiled, discolored,
and without fragrance. You see what a bit of half-smoked glass I am
looking through. At all events, you must see how entirely I am
disabled from returning, except in sober sentences, the lively and
good-natured letters and other things which you have sent me from
America. They were welcome, and I thank you for them now, in a few
words, as you observe, but sincerely. I am somewhat brief, even in
my gratitude. Had I been in braver spirits, I might have spurred my
poor Pegasus, and sent you some lines on the Alma, or the
Inkerman,--bloody battles, but exhibiting marks not to be mistaken
of the old English heroism, which, after all is said about the
enervating effects of luxury, is as grand and manifest as in the
ancient fights which English history talks of so much. Even you,
sternest of republicans, will, I think, be proud of the indomitable
courage of Englishmen, and gladly