of yours to
detect the secret motive of my long-windedness; but the simple fact is,
it has rained incessantly for the last three days, and promises the same
cheering weather for as many more. Glencore doesn't fancy that the
boy's lessons should be broken in upon, and _hinc istae litterae_,--that's
classical for you.

I wish I could say when I am likely to beat my retreat. I 'd stay--not
very willingly, perhaps, but still I 'd stay--if I thought myself of any
use; but I cannot persuade myself that I am such. Glencore is now about
again, feeble of course, and much pulled down, but able to go about the
house and the garden. I can contribute nothing to his recovery, and I
fear as little to his comfort. I even doubt if he desires me to prolong
my visit; but such is my fear of offending him, that I actually dread
to allude to my departure, till I can sound my way as to how he 'll
take it. This fact alone will show you how much he is changed from the
Glencore of long ago. Another feature in him, totally unlike his
former self, struck me the other evening. We were talking of old
messmates--Croydon, Stanhope, Loftus, and yourself--and instead of
dwelling, as he once would have done, exclusively on your traits of
character and disposition, he discussed nothing but your abilities, and
the capacity by which you could win your way to honors and distinction.
I need n't say how, in such a valuation, you came off best. Indeed, he
professes the highest esteem for your talents, and says, "You'll see
Upton either a cabinet minister or ambassador at Paris yet;" and this he
repeated in the same words last night, as if to show it was not dropped
as a mere random observation.

I have some scruples about venturing to offer anything bordering on
a suggestion to a great and wily diplomatist like yourself; but if an
illustrious framer of treaties and protocols would condescend to take
a hint from an old dragoon colonel, I 'd say that a few lines from your
crafty pen might possibly unlock this poor fellow's heart, and lead
him to unburthen to _you_ what he evidently cannot persuade himself to
reveal to me. I can see plainly enough that there is something on his
mind; but I know it just as a stupid old hound feels there is a fox in
the cover, but cannot for the life of him see how he's to "draw" him.

A letter from you would do him good, at all events; even the little
gossip of your gossiping career would cheer and amuse him. He said very
plain