No gentleman valets for me--rude creatures presuming to outdress their
masters. What I wanted was the Corporal Trim style of thing--bald,
faithful, ancient retainer. After a world of vexation I succeeded in
finding an artless couple, who agreed for a stipulation to sigh when I
spoke of my grandfather before my guests, and to have been brought up
in the family.

But I am wandering, and neglecting the true vein of sentiment which
so abounds in my heart. All my pleasure is still in mournful
contemplation, but I have learned that the feelings are most refined
when freed from low cares and personal discomforts. I was going to
cite a letter I wrote to my oldest friend, the baron of Hohenfels. It
was sketched out first in verse, but in that form was a failure:

* * * * *

"15th MARCH.

"The snow-white clouds beyond my window are piled up like Alps. The
shades of B. Franklin and W. Tell seem to walk together on those
Elysian Fields; for it was here (or sufficiently nigh for the purpose)
that in days gone by our pure patriot dwelt and flirted with Madame
Helvetius; and yonder clouds so much resemble the snowy Alps that they
remind me irresistibly of the Swiss. Noble examples of a high purpose
and a fixed will! Do B. and W. not move, Hyperion-like, on high? Were
_they_ not, likewise, sons of Heaven and Earth?

[Illustration]

"I wish I knew the man who called flowers 'the fugitive poetry of