four weeks, to stay. I have not yet ascended Mount Holyoke, but intend it; and of all the men and women in the universe, you are precisely the person whose rather exaggerated exclamations I should prefer to hear on that far-famed pinnacle. But so it may not be.

The dear little boy. I would walk miles to see him. He will have changed not a little before I return. God preserve him and his mother! My happiness and hopes are but too dependent upon these two frail mortals. I am satisfied, as I can commit them to God, which I now do, in all earnestness.

CLXI. TO MRS. OLIN.

Northampton, August 19th, 1847. The most observable incident which has transpired since I last wrote, is the ascent of Mount Holyoke, achieved this morning in company with a party formed among the hard drinkers of our establishment. The top of the mountain is just three miles from the centre of the village of Northampton, and about four from Round Hill. We rode through the beautiful meadows that half encompass the village, and constitute its pride and the basis of all its prosperity. Crossing the river and proceeding about half a mile beyond it, we left our horse and carriage just where the ascent becomes too abrupt for any but pedestrians. From this point to the summit of the mountain it is very steep, and the walking, for want of a better road, is as difficult as that up the Flégère from the vale of Chamouni. The elevation is not, therefore, to be confounded with that of Mont Blanc, being only eight hundred feet above the glassy, or, rather, silvery surface of the most tortuous Connecticut, which winds every way, and nearly cuts up the extensive, beautiful bottom into islands. You have heard many descriptions of the view, I suppose, from ladies, and even from gentlemen, more imaginative than

* Of pure cold water.

I am, and I will not run the risk of degrading the noble subject by my flat sayings. I do not remember to have seen. any thing more charming in all my travels.

The mountain features which support the horizon on all sides, at the apparent distance of from fifteen to thirty miles, are less bold than the Katskills, which so ennoble the views enjoyed at Rhinebeck and Red Hook; but the filling up is exquisitely rich as well as various. I know not how many steeples you may count, for I did not count them, but the eye takes in many sweet villages, and a vast area of meadows and corn-fields. Toward the edges of the plain, or, rather, toward the circumference of the basin, the slopes of the hills are much wooded, which has a fine effect, and forms a beautiful frame-work for the gorgeous picture. The eye commanded a great distance to the North, and the river, winding across and across the green meadows, seems to divide the whole region into distinct sections. The air was invigorating, and at that elevation inconveniently cool.

After remaining about an hour, we descended at a quick step, and got home in time to sit twenty-five minutes in a tub of cold water, and make a rapid visit to the springs, from which it is the doctor's request that I imbibe about a dozen large cups of very cool water in the course of each day.

I forget if, in the progress of this voluminous correspondence, I have stated to you the order of my most monotonous life here at Round Hill. At half past three o'clock A.M., I am packed. At half past five comes the boy, and rolls away the superincumbent drapery. I rise to my feet by his help, he having also put on my slippers, and a blanket over my head. He also opens the wrappings a little at the feet, going half bent, with the trail of corners in his hand, as I descend by steps, which can not exceed the length of my foot, to the bath-room. I take the half-bath, and am first sprinkled, and then have some pailsfull of cold water poured over my head and shoulders. I am then rubbed dry, walk back to my

room and dress, and then walk four miles and drink four or five cups of water before breakfast, at which I drink nothing, and eat Graham bread and hominy. Then comes some leisure, though I must walk a mile and drink again before the sitz-bath, at ten A.M. Half an hour in the tub is again followed by a walk and some cooling draught. I am now ready for dinner, and it is ready for me at half past twelve o'clock-some mutton or beef, or both, some potatoes, hominy, and rice. Dessert, rice or bread pudding, nearly cold, so that it will not melt butter. It is against the rule to sleep after dinner, so I read a little, or talk most uninterestingly to some one in the parlor (forty-four by forty). I must walk and drink, and write an affectionate letter to my dear wife, in time for another sitz-bath at half-past three o'clock, for the mail is open at half past four, when by far the most delightful of the day's incidents is liable to occur, in the coming of a piece of folded paper signed "J. M. O.," and redolent of affection, and of intimations concerning the progress in all sorts of winning ways and pride-inspiring perfections, of the hope of my house, my son and heir, Master S. Henry Olin, together with such items of autobiography, historical notices, &c., as the checkered career of the writer, of the coterie around her, of Mrs. S and such other dribblets of the Faculty of the Wesleyan University now extant thereabouts may furnish. I may then call on some friends in need at the hotel or in the village, or I may read the Tribune, the Post, &c. I must see, and sip the springs again in time for not tea, at six P.M.-I must walk again before I bathe my feet, and go to bed at half past eight P.M. Here, then, you have a skeleton of my daily history. Does it strike you as particularly pleasant? Do you perceive no odd interstices, in which you could imagine it would be particularly agreeable to me to have snatched interviews with you and the baby? Busy as I may seem, I assure you, in all good faith, there are such. I even find no little time to think of you both. Of

you I thought to day, as I came down the mountain. What do you suppose I thought? That I wished it had been you instead of me who had had the view and the pleasure.

CLXII. TO THE SAME.

Northampton, Wednesday, Aug. 25th, 1847.

It is a pleasant anticipation, being with you

in a few days, though I can but deeply regret my inability to carry out this experiment to more satisfactory issues. It requires time, and with six months for a fair trial I should expect valuable and permanent results. I am persuaded that home practice can do but little beyond a palliation of existing difficulties. In order to reach a cure, the mind, the true source of disease, must be free. It can not be free in the midst of my official duties under any possible arrangement; and it seems to me a most questionable course, that of working against so many infirmities, and in the face of so many liabilities. I greatly fear that I shall see ground to repent of my departure from the resolution so firmly made during my illness last spring. I have a strong desire to work on; I am deeply solicitous to see the university placed on a permanent basis. I do not see who, under all the circumstances, can succeed me with a fair prospect of completing the work now hopefully begun. I need more faith to commit the whole enterprise, to commit you and myself to the care of our covenant-keeping God. Oh! may He direct and guide for it and for us!

It is my intention to be at home by the beginning of the term. I heartily desire to see you and the cherub boy. It is a grievous loss to be so much separated from you. I seem to myself to possess ample means of happiness without the power of enjoying them-a good home, kind friends, and respectable position, then the precious babe, who really has come most unexpectedly to be an essential element of satisfaction. I could hardly do without him, though I look

with solicitude to his future, destined, as I think, to grow up, if he lives, without my instruction and watchfulness. May God endow you with strength for double duty. Above all, may He work with his sanctifying Spirit, and then the work will be made easy.

CLXIII. TO THE REV. DR. M'CLINTOCK

Northampton, August 26th, 1847. I am just now reminded that I am indebted to you for a letter unanswered. Is it so? I had begun to indulge inward complainings that you were so long silent. Aware that I am accustomed to reply to the letters of my friends, indeed, to all letters, without procrastination, I had concluded that you were too busy to write for the present, and that I should soon hear from you. I have been at this place three weeks to make some experiment of the watercure. I expect to go home after a few days, as our term will begin next Thursday. I intend to carry on the practice to some extent at home, and, if practicable, to devote my next vacation to it. Three weeks have not afforded time to do more than test my ability to bear the treatment, and to afford some opportunity for observing its modus operandi, and something of its effects on others. I think more and more favorably of the system, and have an increasing desire to try it thoroughly in my own case. I can hardly expect perfect relief of ailments of so long standing, and so complicated withal, by the unmistakable symptoms of coming old age. It is, no doubt, my duty to refit the crazy tabernacle, so far as may be done, reserving, at the same time, my chief solicitude for the imperishable tenant that must ere long, in spite of all carefulness, desert it for a house not made with hands. Never, in any part of my life, have I been able to look forward to such a change with so much satisfaction. I had never more nor stronger reasons for wishing to live. My powers of enjoyment are unimpaired, and my sources of enjoyment