ereon credited to you was not
payable until the 1st of October. The account is footed "Net
sales of _French Revolution_ to 1 July, 1840, due October 1,
$249.77." Let us hope then that we shall get, not only a new
page of statement, but also some small payment in money a month
hence. Having no better story to tell, I told nothing.

But I will not let the second of the Cunard boats leave Boston
without a word to you. Since I wrote by Calvert came your letter
describing your lectures and their success: very welcome news,
for a good London newspaper, which I consulted, promised reports,
but gave none. I have heard so oft of your projected trip to
America, that my ear would now be dull, and my faith cold, but
that I wish it so much. My friend, your audience still waits for
you here willing and eager, and greatly larger no doubt than it
would have been when the matter was first debated.

Our community begin to stand in some terror of Transcendentalism,
and the _Dial,_ poor little thing, whose first number contains
scarce anything considerable or even visible, is just now honored
by attacks from almost every newspaper and magazine; which at
least betrays the irritability and the instincts of the good
public. But they would hardly be able to fasten on so huge a man
as you are any party badge. We must all hear you for ourselves.
But beside my own hunger to see and know you, and to hear you
speak at ease and at large under my own roof, I have a growing
desire to present you to three or four friends, and them to you.
Almost all my life has been passed alone. Within three or four
years I have been drawing nearer to a few men and women whose
love gives me in these days more happiness than I can write of.
How gladly I would bring your Jovial light upon this friendly
constellation, and make you too know my distant riches! We have
our own problems to solve also, and a good deal of movement and
tendency emerging into sight every day in church and state, in
social modes and in letters. I sometimes fancy our cipher is
larger and easier to read than that of your English society.

You will naturally ask me if I try my hand at the history of all
this,--I who have leisure, and write. No, not in the near and
practical way in which they seem to invite. I incline to write
philosophy, poetry, possibility,--anything but history. And yet
this phantom of the next age limns himself sometimes so large and
plain that every feature