in one respect he much resembles that unfortunate but anonymous ancestor of his, the King of Bohemia with the seven castles, who, according to Corporal Trim, had such a passion for navigation and sea-affairs, “with never a seaport in all his dominions.”  But now the present King of Bohemia has got the sway of Trieste, and is Lord High Admiral and Chief of the Marine Department.  He has been much in Spain, also in South America; I have read some travels, “Reise Skizzen,” of his—­printed, not published.  They are not without talent, and he ever and anon relieves his prose jog-trot by breaking into a canter of poetry.  He adores bull-fights, and rather regrets the Inquisition, and considers the Duke of Alva everything noble and chivalrous, and the most abused of men.  It would do your heart good to hear his invocations to that deeply injured shade, and his denunciations of the ignorant and vulgar protestants who have defamed him. (N.B.  Let me observe that the R. of the D. R. was not published until long after the “Reise Skizzen” were written.) ’Du armer Alva! weil du dem Willen deines Herrn unerschiitterlich treu vast, weil die festbestimmten grundsatze der Regierung,’ etc., etc., etc.  You can imagine the rest.  Dear me!  I wish I could get back to the sixteenth and seventeenth century. . . .  But alas! the events of the nineteenth are too engrossing.

If Lowell cares to read this letter, will you allow me to “make it over to him jointly,” as Captain Cuttle says.  I wished to write to him, but I am afraid only you would tolerate my writing so much when I have nothing to say.  If he would ever send me a line I should be infinitely obliged, and would quickly respond.  We read the “Washers of the Shroud” with fervid admiration.

Always remember me most sincerely to the Club, one and all.  It touches me nearly when you assure me that I am not forgotten by them.  To-morrow is Saturday and the last of the month.—­[See Appendix A.]—­We are going to dine with our Spanish colleague.  But the first bumper of the Don’s champagne I shall drain to the health of my Parker House friends.

From another long letter dated August 31, 1862, I extract the following passages:—­

“I quite agree in all that you said in your last letter.  ’The imp of secession can’t reenter its mother’s womb.’  It is merely childish to talk of the Union ‘as it was.’  You might as well bring back the Saxon Heptarchy.  But the great Republic is destined to live and flourish, I can’t doubt. . . .  Do you remember that wonderful scene in Faust in which Mephistopheles draws wine for the rabble with a gimlet out of the wooden table; and how it changes to fire as they drink it, and how they all go mad, draw their knives, grasp each other by the nose, and think they are cutting off bunches of grapes at every blow, and how foolish they all look when they awake from the spell and see how the Devil has been mocking them?  It always