ay, October 15, 1833.

You are wandering, dear Mrs. Jameson, in the land of romance, the
birthplace of wild traditions, the stronghold of chivalrous
legends, the spell-land of witchcraft, the especial haunt and home
of goblin, specter, sprite, and gnome; all the beautiful and
fanciful creations of the poetical imagination of the Middle Ages.
You are, I suppose, in Germany; intellectually speaking, almost the
antipodes of America. Germany is now the country to which my
imagination wanders oftener than to any other. Italy was my wishing
land eight years ago, but many things have dimmed that southern
vision to my fancy, and the cloudier skies, wilder associations,
and more solemn spirit of Germany attract me more now than the
sunny ruin-land....

I shall not return to England, not even to visit it now--certainly
never to make my home there again. "The place that knew me will
know me no more," and you will never again have the satisfaction of
coming to me after a first night's new part to say all manner of
kind things about it to me. My feelings about the stage you know
full well, and will rejoice with me that there is a prospect of my
leaving it before its pernicious excitements had been rendered
necessary to me by habit. Yet when I think of my "farewell night,"
I cannot help wishing it might have taken place in London, before
my own people, who received my first efforts so kindly, and where I
stood in the very footprints, as it were, of my kindred.... Thank
you for your long and entertaining letter, and for the copy of the
second edition of "Shakespeare's Women." You cannot think how
extremely popular you are in this country. A lady assured me the
other day, that when you went to heaven, which you certainly would,
Shakespeare would meet you and kiss you for having understood, and
made others understand, him so well. If ever you do come to this
side of that deep, dividing ditch, which you speak of as not an
improbable event, you will find as much admiration waiting for you
here as you can have left behind; whether it is equally valuable,
it is for you to judge.... I have seen Niagara since last I wrote
to you, and it was in a balcony almost overhanging it that I saw
your husband, and that he gave me long accounts of your literary
plans.