In June, 1851, he writes:—­

“I have encountered a good many of your countrymen here lately, but have been introduced only to a few.  I found Mr. Norton, who has returned to you, and Mr. Dwight, who is still here, I believe, very intelligent and agreeable.

“If all Americans were like them and yourself, and if all Englishmen were like Kenyon and (so far as regards a desire to judge fairly) myself, I think there would be little or no quarrelling between our small island and your great continent.

“Our glass palace is a perpetual theme for small-talk.  It usurps the place of the weather, which is turned adrift, or laid up in ordinary for future use.  Nevertheless it (I mean the palace) is a remarkable achievement, after all; and I speak sincerely when I say, ’All honor and glory to Paxton!’ If the strings of my poor little lyre were not rusty and overworn, I think I should try to sing some of my nonsense verses before his image, and add to the idolatry already existing.

“If you have hotter weather in America than that which is at present burning and blistering us here, you are entitled to pity.  If it continue much longer, I shall be held in solution for the remainder of my days, and shall be remarkable as ‘Oxygen, the poet’ (reduced to his natural weakness and simplicity by the hot summer of 1851), instead of Your very sincere and obliged

    “B.W.  PROCTER.”

Here is a brief reference to Judd’s remarkable novel, forming part of a note written to me in 1852:—­

“Thanks for ‘Margaret’ (the book, not the woman), that you have sent me.  When will you want it back? and who is the author?  There is a great deal of clever writing in it,—­great observation of nature, and also of character among a certain class of persons. But it is almost too minute, and for me decidedly too theological.  You see what irreligious people we are here.  I shall come over to one of your camp-meetings and try to be converted.  What will they administer in such a case? brimstone or brandy?  I shall try the latter first.”

Here is a letter bearing date “Thursday night, November 25, 1852,” in which he refers to his own writings, and copies a charming song:—­

“Your letter, announcing the arrival of the little preface, reached me last night.  I shall look out for the book in about three weeks hence, as you tell me that they are all printed.  You Americans are a rapid race.  When I thought you were in Scotland, lo, you had touched the soil of Boston; and when I thought you were unpacking my poor MS., tumbling it out of your great trunk, behold! it is arranged—­it is in the printer’s hands—­it is printed—­published—­it is—­ah! would I could add, SOLD!  That, after all, is the grand triumph in Boston as well as London.

“Well, since it is not sold yet,