THE EUROPEAN JOURNALS 



^95 



le to 



norn- 

 guard 

 in the 

 ugues 

 jeriul. 

 ot this 

 ; asun- 

 sentle- 

 •logical 

 ;r write 

 abuse. 

 J Phila- 



w of the 

 le mint, 

 lot much 

 vier is to 

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for few men would attempt the severe task I have run 

 through, I think. And as to me, alas! I am growing old, 

 and although my spirits are as active as ever, my body de- 

 clines, and perhaps I never could renew them all. I shall 

 watch them carefully. Indeed, should I find it necessary, 

 I will remove them to Edinburgh or Paris, where the 

 atmosphere is less dangerous. 



April 6. I have not written a word for three days, 

 because, in truth, I have little to mention. Whenever I 

 am in this London all is alike indifferent to me, and I 

 in turn indifferent. Ah! my love, on a day like this in 

 America I could stroll in magnificent woods, I could lis- 

 ten to sounds fresh and pure, I could look at a d/ue sky, 

 Mr. Loudon called and said he was anxious to have a 

 review of my work in his magazine, and would write to 

 Mr. Wm. Swainson,^ a naturalist and friend of Dr. 

 Traill's, to do so. He again begged me to write an 

 article for him, for which he would pay eight guineas; 

 but no, I will write no more for publication except, as 

 has been urged, to accompany my own pictures. 



April 10. I have now only one set on hand ; I had fif- 

 teen when I went to Cambridge. I hope soon to hear 

 from Liverpool ; the silence of a friend sometimes terri- 

 fies me ; I dread to learn that my venerable, good " Lady " 

 Rathbone is ill. 



April IJf. I cannot conceive why, but my spirits have 

 been much too low for my own comfort. I thought 

 strongly of returning to America; such a long absence 

 from thee is dreadful. I sometimes fear we shall never 

 meet again in this ivorld. I called on Havell, who showed 

 me the White-headed Eagle, a splendid plate indeed, and 

 nearly finished. 



April 17. I did but little yesterday, I was quite un- 

 well; in the afternoon I walked to Bruton St. and saw 



' William Swainson, naturalist and writer. Born in England 1789, emi- 

 grated in 1841 to New Zealand, where he died 1855. 



