"I was sorry to hear of poor Willis. Our critics here were too severe upon him....
"The Frost King (vulg. Jack Frost) has come down upon us with all his might. Banished from the pleasant shores of Boston, he has come with his cold scythe and ice pincers to our undefended little island, and is tyrannizing in every corner and over every part of every person. Nothing is too great for him, nothing too mean. He condescends even to lay hold of the nose (an offence for which any one below the dignity of a King—or a President—would be kicked.) As for me I have taken refuge in
"A SONG WITH A MORAL.
"When the winter bloweth loud,
And the earth is in a shroud,
Frozen rain or sleety snow
Dimming every dream below,—
There is e'er a spot of green
Whence the heavens may be seen.
"When our purse is shrinking fast,
And our friend is lost, (the last!)
And the world doth pour its pain,
Sharper than the frozen rain,—
There is still a spot of green
Whence the heavens may be seen.
"Let us never meet despair
While the little spot is there;
Winter brighteneth into May,
And sullen night to sunny day,—
Seek we then the spot of green
Whence the heavens may be seen.
"I have left myself little space for more small-talk. I must, therefore, conclude with wishing that your English dreams may continue bright, and that when they begin to fade you will come and relume at one of the white-bait dinners of which you used to talk in such terms of rapture.
"Have I space to say that I am very truly yours?
"B.W. PROCTER."
A few months later, in the same year (1853), he sits by his open window in London, on a morning of spring, and sends off the following pleasant words:—