versing as if we had been long known to each other. It is to me the most gratifying proof of esteem to be thus let at once into the real mind, the sanctum sanctorum, instead of being kept with ceremonials and compliments on the steps, in the antechamber, or even in the salle de reception doing Kotoo Chinese or any other fashion.
We went over vast fields of thought in our short hour, from America to France, and to England and to Ireland, Washington, La Fayette, Bonaparte, O'Connell. You may guess it could only be a vue d'oiseau, flying too, but still a pounce down upon a true point now and then, and agreeing in our general unchangeable view that moral excellence is essential to make the man really great; that the highest intellectual superiority that can be given by Omnipotence to mortal ought not and does not. even in human opinion, entitle him without moral worth to the character of great. Mr. Everett tells me that Washington Irving is going to publish another life of Washington. I fear his workman- ship will be too fine and delicate for the main matter. Boldness — boldness — boldness — and brevity. Oh, the strength of Brevity! Brevity keeps fast hold of the memory, and more fast hold of the judgment; the whole process, en petit compris, goes in a few words with the verdict to "long posterity" while elegance only charms the taste, accords with the present fashion of literature, and passes away gliding gracefully into " mere oblivion."
Lecture upon brevity well exemplified by present correspondent.
A severe attack of erysipelas laid her low this summer; but, if it weakened her body, it did not depress her mental faculties. She writes to her cousin with all the buoyancy of youth:—
I am right glad to look forward to the hope of seeing you again, and talking all manner of nonsense and sense, and laughing myself and making you laugh, as I used to do, though I am six year beyond the allotted age and have had so many attacks of illness within the last two years ; but I am as Bess Fitzherbert and poor dear Sophy used to say, like one of those pith puppets that you knock down in vain, they always start up the same as ever. . . . Sir Henry Marsh managed me with skill, and let me recover slowly as Nature requires at advanced age. I am obliged to repeat myself, "advanced age," because really and truly neither my spirits nor my powers of locomotion and facility of running up and down stairs would put me in mind of it. I do not find either my love for my
friends or my love of literature in the least failing. I enjoyed even