sely with my prophecy too. Thanks,
a thousand thanks, for all the trouble you never grudge to take.
We shall get ourselves handsomely out of this export and import
speculation; and know, taught at a rather _cheap_ rate, not to
embark in the like again.

There went off a _Wilhelm Meister_ for you, and a letter to
announce it, several weeks ago; that was message first. Your
traveling neighbor, Brown, took charge of a Pamphlet named
_Chartism,_ to be put into the "British Queen's" Letter-bag
(where I hope, and doubt not, he did put it, though I have seen
nothing of him since); that and a letter in reference to it was
message second. Thirdly, I sent off a volume of _Poems_ by
Sterling, likewise announced in that letter. And now this that I
actually write is the fourth (it turns out to be) and last of all
the messages. Let us take Arithmetic along with us in all
things.--Of _Chartism_ I have nothing farther to say, except that
Fraser is striking off another One Thousand copies to be called
Second Edition; and that the people accuse me, not of being
an incendiary and speculative Sansculotte threatening to
become practical, but of being a Tory,--thank Heaven. The
_Miscellanies_ are at press; at _two_ presses; to be out, as
Hope asseverates, in March: five volumes, without _Chartism;_
with Hoffmann and Tieck from German Romance, stuck in somewhere
as Appendix; with some other trifles stuck in elsewhere, chiefly
as Appendix; and no essential change from the Boston Edition.
Fraser, "overwhelmed with business," does not yet send me his net
result of those Two Hundred and Fifty Copies sold off some
time ago; so soon as he does, you shall hear of it for your
satisfaction.--As to _German Romance,_ tell my friends that it
has been out of print these ten years; procurable, of late not
without difficulty, only in the Old-Bookshops. The comfort is
that the best part of it stands in the new _Wilhelm Meister:_
Fraser and I had some thought of adding Tieck's and Richter's
parts, had they suited for a volume; the rest may without
detriment to anybody perish.

Such press-correctings and arrangings waste my time here, not in
the agreeablest way. I begin, though in as sulky a state of
health as ever, to look again towards some new kind of work. I
have often thought of Cromwell and Puritans; but do not see how
the subject can be presented still alive. A subject dead is not
worth presenting. Meanwhile I read rubbish o