10th—Ah, how charming it was to receive a letter from you, and to know how everything was at home. The letter was, it is true, somewhat old, for it was written in January, but it sounded deliriously fresh to me, poor West-Indian pilgrim! And nothing in it pleased me more than to know that you on the first of June will go with the Q.'s to Marstrand. Thoughtful, rational people, brother-in-law and sister!
I shall not, however, be at home in July, and perhaps not even in August; I have still so much to see and to consider thoroughly in the United States: but when colder weather comes, then my dear child I shall come and be with you and mamma. And how much of light, and warmth, and good, both in great and small, shall I not have gathered up in my wanderings—nor shall I keep them all to myself—of that you may be sure!
I have enjoyed, and still enjoy, much in Cuba, both in soul and body, and I have become really stout and young again there—(N.B. In comparison with what I was in the United States, where I grew both thin and old)—I should have still further improved if I could only have rested somewhat. But my imagination has been so much invigorated—or rather, so much excited here, that it has left me no repose, but has kept me in an almost continual fever. New objects and new combinations are continually presenting themselves, and exciting me to copy them or to avail myself of them, and urging me to undertake more than I can accomplish, both as regards time and ability. It is almost laughable, and sometimes also a little to be regretted, because I can get no rest. I am, however, more amused by my work than I have ever been, and I take portraits now better than I did formerly; but those which are most successful I generally leave at the homes where I am staying at the time. Yes, those good, beautiful homes! they have been as good to me at Cuba, as in the United States; open, hospitable, they have afforded
