[Oxford—Thursday, 25 June 1868]
June 25. Plymouth. Letter from Longfellow written on the steamer. Once more in the old places so well beloved among the shadows of the hills. O Love! O Life, so strange the years, so few, Eternal sleep the hills, and on their breast Sleeps swift mortality from this unrest; While ages fade and Spring again is new.
We have had an exceptionally beautiful trip to this place which J. says I must set down. Our landlord at Oxford possessed a spirited pair of horses and an open wagon large enough to convey our luggage, Miss Greene, ourselves and driver (himself). In this way we drove to the little town of Wentworth 12 miles from Oxford where we took the railroad. The drive over a perfect road and through marvellous hill & lake scenery was one worthy of wide repute. We were drunk with air and enjoyment. Purely it is not a drive to lose if one is in this vicinity. From Wentworth to this place is only an hour by rail. We reached Plymouth in time for dinner.
