essor himself; of what tenor can now only be conjectured. On
the fifth night following, he was seen for the last time!

"Has this invaluable man, so obnoxious to most of the hostile Sects that
convulse our Era, been spirited away by certain of their emissaries; or
did he go forth voluntarily to their head-quarters to confer with them,
and confront them? Reason we have, at least of a negative sort, to
believe the Lost still living; our widowed heart also whispers that ere
long he will himself give a sign. Otherwise, indeed, his archives must,
one day, be opened by Authority; where much, perhaps the _Palingenesie_
itself, is thought to be reposited."

Thus far the Hofrath; who vanishes, as is his wont, too like an Ignis
Fatuus, leaving the dark still darker.

So that Teufelsdrockh's public History were not done, then, or reduced
to an even, unromantic tenor; nay, perhaps the better part thereof were
only beginning? We stand in a region of conjectures, where substance has
melted into shadow, and one cannot be distinguished from the other. May
Time, which solves or suppresses all problems, throw glad light on this
also! Our own private conjecture, now amounting almost to certainty, is
that, safe-moored in some stillest obscurity, not to lie always still,
Teufelsdrockh, is actually in London!

Here, however, can the present Editor, with an ambrosial joy as of
over-weariness falling into sleep, lay down his pen. Well does he know,
if human testimony be worth aught, that to innumerable British readers
likewise, this is a satisfying consummation; that innumerable British
readers consider him, during these current months, but as an uneasy
interruption to their ways of thought and digestion; and indicate so
much, not without a certain irritancy and even spoken invective. For
which, as for other mercies, ought not he to thank the Upper Powers? To
one and all of you, O irritated readers, he, with outstretched arms and
open heart, will wave a kind farewell. Thou too, miraculous Entity,
who namest thyself YORKE and OLIVER, and with thy vivacities and
genialities, with thy all too Irish mirth and madness, and odor of
palled punch, makest such strange work, farewell; long as thou canst,
_fare-well_! Have we not, in the course of Eternity, travelled some
months of our Life-journey in partial sight of one another; have we not
existed together, though in a state of quarrel?

APPENDIX.

This questionable little Book was undou