I congratulate you on your sound conscience with regard to the affair that you wot of. As for your remaining free, that's all very well to think during the interregnum, but a man without a true love is a ship without ballast, a one-tined fork, half a pair of scissors, an utter flash in the pan.... So you are going home, my dear Morse, and God knows if ever I shall see you again. Pardon, I pray you, anything of levity which you may have been offended at in me. Believe me it arose from my so rarely finding one to whom I could be natural and give loose without fear of good faith or good nature ever failing. Wherever I am your approbation will be dearer to me than the hurrah of a world. I shall write to glorious Fenimore in a few days. My love to Allston and Dana. God bless you, H. GREENOUGH. These extracts are from different letters, but they show, I think, the charming character of the man and reflect his admiration for Morse. From the letters of James Fenimore Cooper, written while they were both in Europe, I select the two following as characteristic: July 31, 1832. My dear Morse,--Here we are at Spa--the famous hard-drinking, dissipated, gambling, intriguing Spa--where so much folly has been committed, so many fortunes squandered, and so many women ruined! How are the mighty fallen! We have just returned from a ramble in the environs, among deserted reception-houses and along silent roads. The country is not unlike Ballston, though less wooded, more cultivated, and perhaps a little more varied.... I have had a great compliment paid me, Master Samuel, and, as it is nearly the only compliment I have received in travelling over Europe, I am the more proud of it. Here are the facts. You must know there is a great painter in Brussels of the name of Verboeckhoven (which, translated into the vernacular, means a _bull and a book baked in an oven!_), who is another Paul Potter. He outdoes all other men in drawing cattle, etc., with a suitable landscape. In his way he is truly admirable. Well, sir, this artist did me the favor to call at Brussels with the request that I would let him sketch my face. He came after the horses were ordered, and, knowing the difficulty of the task, I thanked him, but was compelled to refuse. On our arrival at Liège we were told that a messenger from the Governor had been to enquire for us, and I began to bethink me of my sins. There was no great cause for fear, however, for it proved that Mr. Bull-and-book-baked had placed himself in the diligence, come down to Liège (sixty-three miles), and got the Governor to give him notice, by means of my passport, when we came. Of course I sat.