n case of a colleagueship, and that must come, I might be glad of it.
Bellows, too, would help me,--would take charge with me,--and that may
be, if the thing is open by and by, but not now; I must not think of it
any more now. I have not slept a wink all night for thinking of this and
other things.

All this, my dear fellow, is somewhat confidential. I do not wish to be
considered a good-for-nothing. Perhaps I shall rally. I was doing very
well when I left the Continent. England overwhelmed me with engagements,
and so it is here. With our love to your love and the children,

Yours as ever,

ORVILLE DEWEY.

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,

ORVILLE DEWEY.

To the Same.

SHEFFIELD, Aug. 18, 1845.

MY DEAR FRIEND,-. . . The whole previous page is to no purpose but to
let you know that I have thought about you incessantly; for you know
that I have a sympathy not only with your heart, but with your head,
if that be again, as I suppose it is, the seat of your trouble. Heads
certainly can bear a great deal. Mine has; and [179] I am now reading
the work, in six volumes, of a man who