MY DEAR FRIEND: I received your letter this morning, in which you
reproach me with not having written to you this week. The reason was,
that I did not know what to write. There is that sameness in my life
here, that EVERY DAY IS STILL BUT AS THE FIRST. I see very few people;
and, in the literal sense of the word, I hear nothing.
Mr. L------and Mr. C-----I hold to be two very ingenious men; and your
image of the two men ruined, one by losing his law-suit, and the other by
carrying it, is a very just one. To be sure, they felt in themselves
uncommon talents for business and speaking, which were to reimburse them.
Harte has a great poetical work to publish, before it be long; he has
shown me some parts of it. He had entitled it “Emblems,” but I persuaded
him to alter that name for two reasons; the first was, because they were
not emblems, but fables; the second was, that if they had been emblems,
Quarles had degraded and vilified that name to such a degree, that it is
impossible to make use of it after him; so they are to be called fables,
though moral tales would, in my mind, be the properest name. If you ask
me what I think of those I have seen, I must say, that ‘sunt plura bona,
quaedam mediocria, et quaedam----’
Your report of future changes, I cannot think is wholly groundless; for
it still runs strongly in my head, that the mine we talked of will be
sprung, at or before the end of the session.
I have got a little more strength, but not quite the strength of
Hercules; so that I will not undertake, like him, fifty deflorations in
one night; for I really believe that I could not compass them. So
good-night, and God bless you!