the ocean: there he finds rest—rest worthy of a heroic soul—peace in the infinite, the great: sufficient for all.
I would willingly live by the Hudson if I did not know a river yet dearer to me: it is called Götha River. Our Årsta is charming beside its salt waves. But I would rather have a little place beside the river Götha; and I fancy that you would be better there, on the western coast of Sweden, than on the eastern, and the colder.
I must now leave you, to write other letters. Mr. Downing will also write a few words to you and to mamma. I yesterday proposed a toast, your health, and we drank it in champagne.
Kind greeting to relations and friends, and say something especially cordial to Beata Afzelius from me.
LETTER IV.
My Sweet Sister,—Again in New York, or in that portion of the great city which is called Brooklyn, and which is separated from New York by the so-called East River, and which will be a city of itself, and which has also a right to be so for its own sake. Brooklyn is as quiet as New York is bewildering and noisy: it is built upon the heights of Long Island; has glorious views over the wide harbour, and quiet broad streets, planted on each side with acanthus trees, a kind of Chinese tree, and I believe of the acacia family, which has a leaf like our ash, only much broader, and which bears long pods. There is also another kind of tree, with a taller stem, which gives shade and a peaceful and rural character to the streets. It is said that the merchants of New York go over to Brooklyn, where they have their house and home, to sleep. The friend with whom I am living, Marcus S.,
