To the Same.
NEW YORK, Jan. 6, 1845.
MY DEAR FRIEND,--I shall make no clue return for your good long letter;
I have none of the Lambent light which plays around your pen wherewith
to illuminate my page, and indeed am in these days, I am sorry to say,
something more dark than usual. However, if wishes be such good things
as you ingeniously represent, [178] I judge that attempts are worth
something. Ergo, Q. S., which means good sequitur; it can hardly be a
non sequitur, if nothing follows.
There! I have just touched all the points of your letter, I think. I
have sent my light comment-stone skittering over your full smooth lake.
Well, I see you on the bank of your literal lake, your beautiful
Menotomy,--beautiful as Windermere, only not so big; and I see the
spring coming to cover that bank with verdure, and I long for both;
that is, for spring and you. I always long for you, and for spring, I
think I long for it more than I ever did It must be that I am growing
old. Shall we ever meet, my friend, if not by Menotomy, by those
fountains where Christ leads his flock in the immortal clime, and
rejoin our beloved Henry, and Greenwood, and Channing? I am not sad,
but my thoughts this winter are far more of death than of life. Ought
one to part with his friends so? No; happy New Year to you. Hail the
expected years, and the years of eternity! God bless you.
As ever,