With true loves, adieu, and believe me
Your affectionate
Frederick.
LETTER XXVIII.
Arthur Howard to Frederick Douglas.
Paris.
My dear Fred.
Your letter, announcing safe return to the “happy valley,” found me on the very eve of my departure to Dover. Need I say how welcome it was?—Yes, you did indeed describe your feelings to one who could participate in every sensation, and feel every beat of your heart, as the well known land marks, the termini that bound your glen of enchantment, rose smiling in the western beam, above the misty fleece which had rolled over their summits from the sea. I saw the first faggot blaze on the peak of Lisfarne; I heard the first joyous announcement of Tom Collins, the eager bark of Gelert, Eva, and Bran, the din of voices, the pattering of bare feet across every path-way in the bog; in short, what incident, however trifling, was a stranger to my breast that prepared for the final folding in your mother’s arms?
How different my journey and my arrival at its termination! I could have joined several gay parties, proceeding in the same route which I was about to tread; but I was not in a humour for such company as they offered, and so I preferred commencing my travels solus, Lewis being only an appendage who permits me to be more alone than I should be without him, by taking all the minor cares that belong to chemin faisant off my shoulders.