In your last letter there are several disagreeable sentences, about which I might well pick a quarrel with you, were it not that I find it profitless--as you say you do--and, what is even worse, dangerous and depressing to dispute with each other at a distance. I can not imagine how you spend the twenty-four hours of the day. I am able to guess how you employ fourteen of them, but I should like to be informed in detail as to the other ten. Do you still read Herodotus? What a pity that you do not attempt a little of the original, with the translation of Larcher, which you have, I think. You would encounter no difficulties, except the excessive use of the Ionian η. If you can get a copy of Zenophon’s _Anabasis_, you might enjoy it, especially if you have a map of Asia beside you as you read. I no longer remember _The Dialogues of the Sea-gods_ (of Lucian). Read, rather, _Jupiter Convicted_ or _Jupiter the Tragedian_, or even _The Festival_ or _The Lapethæ_, unless you are keeping them for me as a surprise. I am sure you are looking smart with your dazzling gowns and your flowers, and yet I am taking it on myself to advise Greek readings for you! Good-bye. Write to me soon, and do not ridicule me. I am going away Monday to gracious knows where, but it will not be far, according to all indications. XCIX POITIERS, _September 15, 1844_. If I have delayed a reply to your letter of last month, which I found on my arrival here, it is not, as your guilty conscience will whisper, in retaliation for your remissness in sending me any word of yourself. You let ten days pass without even so much as thinking of writing me a line, which was very bad of you. You speak in your letter of your reflections while at D. I suppose you enjoyed yourself there very much, and I am compelled to believe that you enjoy yourself only when you have an opportunity to play the coquette. Since leaving Paris I have had the most tedious sort of time. Like Ulysses, I have seen many customs, men, and cities, and I have found them all hideeously ugly. Then, I have had fever several times, which has surprised and also annoyed me, for it means that I am losing health. The country about here is the most level and the most uninteresting in France; yet there are a great many woods, with magnificent trees, and solitudes where I should love to have met you. Your memory is now associated in my mind with a host of places, but I like to think of you especially in the woods and the museums. If it is any pleasure to you to know that you occupy a place--a large place, too--in my thoughts, you may be gratified to know that you are not forgotten in the midst of the busy life I am leading. Each tree recalls such and such a conversation. I spend my time meditating on our rambles.