ture again in spring, Heaven knows on what; it will be a
wretched fever for me; but once through it there will be board
wages for another year. The wild Ishmael can hunt in _this_
desert too, it would seem. I say, I will be thankful; and wait
quietly what farther is to come, or whether anything farther.
But indeed, to speak candidly, I do feel sometimes as if another
Book were growing in me,--though I almost tremble to think of it.
Not for this winter, O no! I will write an Article merely, or
some such thing, and read trash if better be not. This, I do
believe, is my horoscope for the next season: an Article on
something about New-Year's-day (the Westminster Editor, a good-
natured, admiring swan-goose from the North Country, will not let
me rest); then Lectures; then--what? I am for some practical
subject too; none of your pictures in the air, or _aesthetisches
Zeug_ (as Mullner's wife called it, Mullner of the _Midnight
Blade_): nay, I cannot get up the steam on any such best; it is
extremely irksome as well as fruitless at present. In the next
_Westminster Review,_ therefore, if you see a small scrub of a
paper signed "S.P." on one Varnhagen a German, say that it is by
"Simon Pure," or by "Scissars and Paste," or even by "Soaped
Pig"--whom no man shall _catch!_ Truly it is a secret which you
must not mention: I was driven to it by the Swan-goose above
mentioned, not Mill but another. Let this suffice for my
winter's history: may the summer be more productive.

As for Concord and New England, alas! my Friend, I should but
deface your Idyllion with an ugly contradiction, did I come in
such mood as mine is. I am older in years than you; but in
humor I am older by centuries. What a hope is in that ever young
heart, cheerful, healthful as the morning! And as for me, you
have no conception what a crabbed, sulky piece of sorrow and
dyspepsia I am grown; and growing, if I do not draw bridle. Let
me gather heart a little! I have not forgotten Concord or the
West; no, it lies always beautiful in the blue of the horizon,
afar off and yet attainable; it is a great possession to me;
should it even never be attained. But I have got to consider
lately that it is you who are coming hither first. That is the
right way, is it not? New England is becoming more than ever
part of Old England; why, you are nearer to us now than
Yorkshire was a hundred years ago; this is literally a fact:
you can come _w