xliv 
A FEW MEMOIRS OF 
be easily seen in his latest writings. Among these we 
may mention the beautiful story of u Omemees,” which 
he commenced in “ Porter’s Spirit of the Times,” when 
that admirable sporting paper was started by Messrs. 
Porter and Wilkes, in September, 1856. The opening 
paragraph of this interesting tale is one of the finest de¬ 
scriptions of the loveliness of a September morning, 
among American scenery, that ever was written in prose. 
The whole contribution reads as if its author was anxious 
to repay the fostering kindness of his old friend of “ the 
Spirit;” and W. T. Porter’s associate editor, George 
Wilkes, very properly called public attention to it, in 
their first number, as a u loud, ringing peal from the cla¬ 
rion of Frank Forester.” And so it is, now ringing in our 
ears more sweetly sonorous than ever, inspiring renewed 
reverberations every year among those hearts which can 
enjoy the glories of our September landscapes. 
Perhaps the day may not be far distant when the im¬ 
portance of “ condition ” will be familiarly understood to 
have quite as much influence upon mankind as upon the 
lower animals. If Herbert had had the timely benefit of 
good medical advice, or—what is much more rarely found 
—the wisdom of docility in obedience to its teachings, he 
might, in all probability, so far as human calculation 
could tell, have been spared for a longer and more useful 
life, cheering us with the continued creations of his 
charming pen. 
Scarcely any class of men are so apt to “ break down ” 
as public writers. Critical and splenetic by acquired 
habits, if not by nature, engaged in a sedentary employ¬ 
ment, and continually forcing the activity of their cere¬ 
bral region, all at once, when, perhaps, their most intimate 
friends may not think of the real cause, the balance of 
judgment—or, what amounts to the same in practice, “ the 
blood and. judgment are not well commingled is thus 
