Dear Emerson,--Glad indeed I am to hear of you on any terms, on
any subject. For the last eighteen months I have pretty much
ceased all human correspondence,--writing no Note that was not in
a sense wrung from me; my one society the _Nightmares_ (Prussian
and other) all that while:--but often and often the image of you,
and the thoughts of old days between us, has risen sad upon me;
and I have waited to get loose from the Nightmares to appeal to
you again,--to edacious Time and you. Most likely in a couple of
weeks you would have heard from me again at any rate.--Your
friends shall be welcome to me; no friend of yours can be other
at any time. Nor in fact did anybody ever sent by you prove
other than pleasant in this house, so pray no apologies on that
small score.--If only these Cincinnati Patricians can find me
here when they come? For I am off to the deepest solitudes
discoverable (native Scotland probably) so soon as I can shake
the final tag rags of Printer people off me;--"surely within
three weeks now!" I say to myself. But I shall be back, too, if
all prosper; and your Longworths will be back; and Madam will
stand to her point, I hope.

That book on Friedrich of Prussia--first half of it, two swoln
unlovely volumes, which treat mainly of his Father, &c., and
leave him at his accession--is just getting out of my hands. One
packet more of Proofs, and I have done with it,--thanks to all
the gods! No job approaching in ugliness to it was ever cut out
for me; nor had I any motive to go on, except the sad negative
one, "Shall we be beaten in our old days, then?"--But it has
thoroughly humbled me,--trampled me down into the _mud,_ there to
wrestle with the accumulated stupidities of Mankind, German,