I felt warranted the other day to remark to Lord Bryce on the unfairness of much of the English judgment of us (he is very sad and a good deal depressed).

"Yes," he said, "I have despaired of one people's ever really understanding another even when the two are as closely related and as friendly as the Americans and the English." You were kind enough to inquire about my health in your last note.
If I could live up to the popular conception here of my labours and responsibilities and delicate duties (which is most flattering and greatly exaggerated), I should be only a walking shadow of a man.
But I am most inappreciately well.

I imagine that in some year to come, I may enjoy a vacation, but I could not enjoy it now.

Besides since civilization has gone backward several centuries, I suppose I've gone back with it to a time when men knew no such thing as a vacation.

(Let's forgive House for his kindly, mistaken solicitude.) The truth is, I often feel that I do not know myself--body or soul, boots or breeches.