To William Cullen Bryant, Esq.
ST. DAVID'S, March 14, 1876.
MY DEAR FRIEND,--I have begun to look upon myself as an old man. I
never did before. I have felt so [335] young, so much at least as I
always have done, that I could n't fairly take in the idea. The giftie
has n't been gi'ed me to see myself as others see me. Even yet, when
they get up to offer me the great chair, I can't understand it. But at
length I have so far come into their views as seriously to ask myself
what it is fit for an old man to do, or to undertake. And I have come
to the conclusion that the best thing for me is to be quiet, to keep,
at least, to my quiet and customary method of living,-in other words,
to be at home. My wife is decidedly of that opinion for herself, and,
by parity of reasoning, for me; and I am inclined to think she is right.
This parity, however, does not apply to you. You are six months younger
than I am, by calendar, and six years in activity; you go back and
forth like Cicero to his country villas; pray stop at my door some day,
and let me see you.
You see where all this points. I decide not to go to New York at
present, notwithstanding all the attractions which you hold out to me.
I don't feel like leaving home while this blustering March is roaring
about the house. And from the mild winter we have had, I expect it to
grow more like a lion at the end.
With love to J. and Miss F.,
Your timid old friend,