a little farther than my eyes, and to believe that a deep and
urgent love is there.--Ever affectionately yours,

T. B.



UPTON,
Jan. 26, 1904.


DEAR HERBERT,--So it is to be Madeira at present? Well, I know
Madeira a little, and I can honestly congratulate you. I had feared
it might be Switzerland. I could not LIVE in Switzerland. It does
me good to go there, to be iced and baked and washed clean with
pure air. But the terrible mountains, so cold and unchanged, with
their immemorial patience, their frozen tranquillity; the high
hamlets, perched on their lonely shelves; the bleak pine-trees,
with their indomitable strength--all these depress me. Of course
there is much homely beauty among the lower slopes; the thickets,
the falling streams, the flowers. But the grim black peaks look
over everywhere; and there is seldom a feeling of the rich and
comfortable peace such as one gets in England. Madeira is very
different. I have been there, and must truthfully confess that it
does not suit me altogether--the warm air, the paradisal
luxuriance, the greenhouse fragrance, are not a fit setting for a
blond, lymphatic man, who pants for Northern winds. But it will
suit you; and you will be one of those people, spare and compact as
you are, who find themselves vigorous and full of energy there. I
have many exquisite vignettes from Madeira which linger in my mind.