PARIS, _September 14, 1844_.
All our preparations were made to start to-day, when there came a
commotion which scattered our plans to the winds. There was a collision
between the Department of War and the Department of the Interior. War
will not have us. We shall remain, therefore, or, to be more accurate, I
am not going to Africa. I shall be out of town on business for a
fortnight, and shall then return to Paris. Aside from the vexation one
feels when a plan miscarries, and the keen regret for having wasted two
months in acquiring a lot of useless information, I am taking my
disappointment with the greatest imperturbability. Perhaps you can guess
why.
In your last letter there are several disagreeable sentences, about
which I might well pick a quarrel with you, were it not that I find it
profitless--as you say you do--and, what is even worse, dangerous and
depressing to dispute with each other at a distance.
I can not imagine how you spend the twenty-four hours of the day. I am
able to guess how you employ fourteen of them, but I should like to be
informed in detail as to the other ten. Do you still read Herodotus?
What a pity that you do not attempt a little of the original, with the
translation of Larcher, which you have, I think. You would encounter no
difficulties, except the excessive use of the Ionian η. If
you can get a copy of Zenophon’s _Anabasis_, you might enjoy it,
especially if you have a map of Asia beside you as you read. I no longer
remember _The Dialogues of the Sea-gods_ (of Lucian). Read, rather,
_Jupiter Convicted_ or _Jupiter the Tragedian_, or even _The Festival_
or _The Lapethæ_, unless you are keeping them for me as a surprise.
I am sure you are looking smart with your dazzling gowns and your
flowers, and yet I am taking it on myself to advise Greek readings for
you! Good-bye. Write to me soon, and do not ridicule me. I am going away
Monday to gracious knows where, but it will not be far, according to all
indications.