ORVILLE DEWEY.
To William Cullen Bryant, Esq.
SHEFFIELD, May 7, 1860.
WELL, did I address you as a poet, Magnus; for none but a poet or a Welshman could write such a reply. Do you know I am Welsh? So was Elizabeth, Tudor; so is Fanny Kemble, and other good fellows.
Well, I take your poetry as if it were just as good as prose. But you don't consider, my dear fellow, that if we make our visit when I go down to preach for Bellows, that I can't preach for your Orthodox friend. . . .
Oh, ay, I quite agree with you about leaving the world-melee to others. For my part, I feel as if I were dead and buried long ago. You said, awhile ago, that you did n't so well like to work as you once did. Sensible, [254] that. I feel the same, in my bones—or brains. There it is, you always say, what I think; except sometimes, when you scathe the opponents,—for I am tenderhearted. I don't like to have people made to feel so "bad." Seriously, I wonder that some of you editors are not beaten to death every month. Ours is a much-enduring society. I could enlarge, but I have n't time; for I must go and set out some trees—for posterity.
With our love to your wife and all,
Yours ever,
ORVILLE DEWEY.
To Mrs. David Lane.