[212]I sent a copy of the first part (and I have also of the second part) to Lady Carlisle,—the kind and warm-hearted mother of Lord Morpeth. She writes me: ‘I am so much obliged to you for the most interesting pamphlet on the “ Creole” question. I admired it extremely, and have seldom read any thing that had a greater effect upon me.’ Lord Carlisle thought it so good that, though not politically intimate with Sir Robert Peel, he sent it to him, thinking it was what he ought to see.
I trust that you will gain strength fast. In the hills of Berkshire the nymphs of health seem to live. Several friends have been there recently, and have returned with pleasant recollections. The Ticknors and the Prescotts have passed some time at Lebanon.
Yours ever most sincerely,
P. S. Dickens will write a series of graphic sketches on our country,— one on ‘International Copyright;’ another, I think, on ‘Slavery,’1 with the first sentence from the Declaration of Independence for his motto.
To Dr. Francis Lieber.
Boston, June 27, 1842.dear Lieber,—What a state of imbecility and irresolution and ignorance exists in Rhode Island! But we must begin with the source of all, —John Tyler. Why does he not take the responsibility? If ever a case occurred under the Constitution, it is now. The whole State is in a panic. Within a few days, upwards of three millions of dollars have been sent from Providence to Boston,—and women and children also,—--for safe-keeping. The whole State is under arms. I was in Providence last week; and, as I walked the streets in the evening, was stopped by pickets, and asked: ‘Who goes there?’ All business is suspended. The lawyers do nothing. Is not this clearly a case for the intervention of the General Government to protect the State from domestic insurrection? A few regular troops, well-officered, with a sense of military subordination, would disperse the traitors immediately. . . .We all miss our dear Longfellow very much. We love him most sincerely. I am with Howe a great deal. Bachelors both, we ride and drive together, and pass our evenings, far into the watches of the night, in free and warm communion. His seat is a summer retreat, and I pass one or two nights of every week with him. I think, however, he will be married very soon. What then will become of me? It is a dreary world to travel in alone. Have you heard from Oscar lately? I hope he is well; and when shall you kiss his forehead again? May we expect you in Boston this summer? You say nothing about your plans. You ask about my brother George, and seem to think he will be at home this summer. I begin to think he will
