Lowells. These friends accompany me like good spirits, and I must tell you so, because you must love my friends. Maria Lowell writes—the little travelling companion who went with us everywhere, and to Niagara, and yet which never spoke, and remained so quiet, was—a little boy, who now, large and stout and rosy, is little Mabel's oracle. She listens to every sound he utters, and says to it all, “what does little brother mean?” Beloved, happy Maria!
Jenny Lind is now in Havannah, and people speak differently of the success of her concerts. I believe, nevertheless, that she will gain the victory over her adversaries, who in reality belong to the French party in the country, and who contest her rank as a great singer. She will be received here in New Orleans with enthusiasm; every heart is warm, every ear open to her. She will leave Havanna just when I am arriving, and it is doubtful whether I shall see her.
I am well, my beloved child, and in good spirits. God grant that you are so too! And you must be so with the help of homœopathy. May Æsculapius enlighten you and those concerned.
I shall soon write again from Cuba!
LETTER XXXII.
Sweet Child!—I am sitting beneath the warm bright heavens, and the beautiful palms of the tropics, and it is lovely and wonderful! The glorious, delicious air, the beautiful palm trees are paradisaical; the rest, I suspect, affords pleasure rather through its novelty, its dissimilarity with anything that I have already seen, than by its own great intrinsic beauty. But the unusual and
