caster, Greenfield, Charlemont, North Adams, and Williamstown, to Troy, New York, where we remained for a day or two, and from thence we proceeded along the beautiful valley of the Mohawk, to Trenton Falls. The only portion of the journey home done on horseback, was the space between Albany and Springfield. The pleasure which Mr. Cleveland's companions took in this excursion, was much alloyed, by the too apparent indications which it afforded, of his shattered state of health. His cough was constantly more or less troublesome, and his sleep feverish and interrupted. Upon his return home, however, after he had recovered from the fatigues of the journey, he seemed to have been improved and invigorated by it. He gained strength and flesh, and his cough assumed a milder character; and it was hoped by his friends, that there were no elements of disease remaining in his system, which time and care might not remove. But the approach of cold weather proved the fallacy of these hopes. His cough grew worse, and his general health was seriously affected. It was ascertained by the physicians, to whom his case was submitted, that his lungs were diseased; and, in compliance with their advice, he determined to pass the winter in a warmer climate.

He accordingly sailed from Boston, for Matanzas, in Cuba, on the sixth day of November, 1842, and arrived there after a rough passage of eighteen days. He spent about three weeks in Matanzas, and its neighborhood, and then went to Havana. Here he

remained till the latter part of January, when he visited the plantation of Dr. Morell, where he passed a very agreeable fortnight. Upon his return to Havana, he was, for a time, a little undecided, as to his future course. His original intention had been to go from Cuba to Yucatan, and observe with his own eyes, those stupendous ruins, respecting which his curiosity had been powerfully excited, by the interesting pages of Stephens; but, on account of the unsettled state of that country, he was reluctantly compelled to abandon this plan. As his health appeared to have been better at sea than on land, he embraced the opportunity, which offered itself, of taking passage in an American vessel, bound to Curacoa and Bonaire, to procure a cargo of salt; and sailed in her, from Havana, on the 25th day of February, and returned in her again to Havana, after an agreeable voyage of between five and six weeks, which he enjoyed highly. He was always exempt from the miseries of sea-sickness, and his health and spirits were invariably improved by a sea voyage. He left Havana, for New Orleans, on the 11th day of April, and arrived at the latter place on the 16th. In his letters, he expresses, in the strongest terms, the lively satisfaction he felt, in again setting his foot upon the soil of his own country.

The extracts from Mr. Cleveland's correspondence, which are printed in this volume, will enable the reader to follow him, during his residence in the West Indies, and are highly interesting pictures of

his mind and character. They show an uncommon activity of mind, and accurate powers of observation; and are written in that easy, playful, and flowing style, which forms the highest charm of epistolary composition. They would be attractive to the mere stranger, as agreeable and graphic sketches of what he saw, written in a manner equally removed from stiffness or carelessness; whilst, to his friends, they have a deep and melancholy interest, as the last effusions of a mind so rich, and a heart So warm. Those portions of the correspondence which are not published, are overflowing with expressions of the deepest and liveliest affection, for the friends he had left behind him. Enjoying highly the delicious climate, which spread its charms around him, and the novel scenes through which he passed, and gratefully acknowledging the kindness and hospitality with which he was everywhere welcomed; yet it is easy to perceive that his heart was yearning for his home. One thought of the wintry landscape, that frowned around his family and friends, was more than all the lovely scenes which were blooming before him. He is constantly looking forward to the time, when he should return home, counting the days that are yet to elapse, before he could do so, and anticipating, with warm-hearted impatience, the happiness of that hour, which, alas! he was destined never to behold. No one was more rich in the wealth of friendship, — the best of all earthly possessions- but no amount of affection was ever bestowed upon him, to which his

own heart did not return an ample equivalent. He loved his friends, with an uncalculating and disinterested depth and tenderness of feeling, and separation only drew more closely the cords of love, by which he was bound to them. And now, that we are to see his face no more upon earth, there is a melancholy pleasure in tracing, in these last expressions of his mind, the evidences of an affection, so constant, warm, and sincere, as showed him to be truly worthy of all the confidence he enjoyed, and of all the love that was lavished upon him.

The activity of Mr. Cleveland's mind, during his residence in Cuba, when taken in connexion with his state of health, is quite remarkable. His habits of industry were never interrupted by the claims of illness, nor by the inconveniences attendant upon a wandering life, and a frequent change of residence. As a specimen of the conscientious manner in which he improved his time, the following passage is transcribed from a letter written to his mother, after his return to Havana from Bonaire, in which he mentions the amount of work accomplished, during that voyage, of about five weeks. "I have studied Sales's Spanish Grammar entirely through, with care and attention, performing all the exercises twice; I have translated four books of Telemaque from the French into Spanish, carefully correcting my work by a Spanish translation; I have studied critically, and reviewed with care, two plays of Calderon, occupying two hundred pages; and in the same careful manner have studied through, three or four times,

a volume of poetry, by Espronceda, a modern Spanish poet, the volume containing about three hundred pages. I have read Alison's History of the French Revolution, four volumes of Addison's works, all Byron's dramatic works, Dana's "Two Years Before the Mast," McKenzie's "Paul Jones," and Commodore Perry; besides a whole rabble rout of novels, tales, poems, romances, reviews, magazines, and newspapers, too numerous to be catalogued." This, be it remembered, was the five weeks' work of an invalid, absent from home, in pursuit of health, and on a sea voyage, the discomforts and inconveniencies of which are, to many persons, a sufficient excuse for total idleness.

In the unpublished portions of his correspondence, he, as a matter of course, makes frequent mention of his health, and generally in a hopeful strain; partly from an ignorance of the character of the insidious disease which was undermining his life, and partly from an amiable wish to spare his friends as much anxiety as possible. But now, in reading his letters, we can perceive that there is nothing in them which would not have suggested to a medical man, more ground for fear than hope, in regard to the termination of his illness. He speaks of his appetite and spirits as good, of his sleep as sound, and of his strength as equal to all the fatigues he was called upon to endure. He writes that he has grown stout, that he is free from pain, and that all his physical sensations are agreeable. But, on the other hand, he writes that his cough