To Prof. Convers Francis.
New Rochelle, January 20, 1848.
Here I am in my little out-of-the-way den, as comfortable “as a grub in a nut.”
I have found it to hold good, as a general rule, that a person who will ask for a letter of introduction is sure to be a bore.
If I were going to Europe, and letters of introduction to Wordsworth, Dickens, etc., were offered me, I would never present them, unless I happened by some accident to receive indications of a wish to be introduced, on the part of the men themselves.
What right have I to intrude upon their time, and satisfy my impertinent curiosity by an inventory of their furniture and surroundings?
Dignify it as they may, by talk about reverence for genius, loving a man for his writings, etc., I have always believed it a game of vanity, both with those who offer it, and those who are pleased with it. However, it is no matter whether I am wrong, or the customs of society are wrong.
I am snugly out of the way of them here.
Never was such a lonely place!
As I trudged from the depot to honest Joseph's, about four miles, I met no living thing except one pig and four geese.
But my low-walled room, over the old Dutch stoop, faces the south, and when I open my eyes in the morning they are greeted by beautiful “golden water” on the wall, the reflection of the rising sun through the lattice bars of my willow window curtains.
I eat well, sleep well, dream pleasantly, read agreeable books, and am serenely contented with existence.
I can go to the city whenever I choose, and am always sure of a cordial welcome at Friend Hopper's, where I hire a little bit of an upper bed-room
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for my especial convenience.
So you see I am quite like a lady “of property and standing,” with both country and city residence.
