MY DEAR FRIEND,--It is some time since I have written to you, and I am almost afraid you are glad of it, not having to answer. You must acknowledge, however, that I have always offered you the easiest terms of exchange; two for one, three, four, anything you liked. . . . I have been lately with Mr. Bryant, in his great affliction, staying with my sisters, who occupy one of his cottages, but spending all the time I could with him. It was very sad,--talking upon many things as we did, and much upon those things that were pressing upon his mind, for he felt that he was losing his chief earthly [291] treasure. His wife was that to him, by her simplicity, her simple truthfulness, her perfect sincerity and heart-earnestness, latterly of a very religious character, and by her good judgment also; he told me that he always consulted her upon everything he published, and found that her opinion was always confirmed by that of the public, that is, as to the relative merit of his writings. He was bound to her the more, because his ties of close affection with others are so very few. Sometimes he could not repress his tears in our talking; and they told me that in the morning, when he went to her bedside, he often sat weeping, saying, "You have been suffering all night, and I have been sleeping." In the last days she longed to depart, and often said to him, "You must let me go; I want to go" And so she went, peacefully to her rest. We have had a very pleasant visit from Mr. R. . . . His visits are always a great pleasure to us, both for the talk we have, and the music. It is really a great thing to know anything as he knows music. As I listened to him last evening, I could not help feeling that I knew nothing as he knows that, and thinking that if there are infant schools in the next world, I should certainly be put into one of them. I hope the weather will allow you to sit often on the piazza in the coming month. It is what we have not been able to do in the present month at all,--by a fire, rather, in the parlor, half the time. . . . With our affectionate remembrances to those around you, hold me to be, as ever, Yours, ORVILLE DEWEY. [292] To his Daughter Mary. ST. DAVID'S, Oct. 28, 1866.