As to your visit to us, there is but one thing to be said and repeated:  That a prophet’s chamber is ready for you in Chelsea, and a brotherly and sisterly welcome, on whatever day at whatever hour you arrive:  this, which is all of the Practical that I can properly take charge of, is to be considered a given quantity always.  With regard to Lecturing, &c., Ireland, with whom I suppose you to be in correspondence, seems to have awakened all this North Country into the fixed hope of hearing you,—­and God knows they have need enough to hear a man with sense in his head;—­it was but the other day I read in one of their Newspapers, “We understand that Mr. Emerson the distinguished &c. is certainly &c. this winter,” all in due Newspaper phrase, and I think they settled your arrival for “October” next.  May it prove so!  But on the whole there is no doubt of your coming; that is a great fact.  And if so, I should say, Why not come at once, even as the Editor surmises?  You will evidently do no other considerable enterprise till this voyage to England is achieved.  Come therefore;—­and we shall see; we shall hear and speak!  I do not know another man in all the world to whom I can speak with clear hope of getting adequate response from him:  if I speak to you, it will be a breaking of my silence for the last time perhaps,—­perhaps for the first time, on some points! Allons. I shall not always be so roadweary, lifeweary, sleepy, and stony as at present.  I even think there is yet another Book in me; “Exodus from Houndsditch” (I think it might be called), a peeling off of fetid Jewhood in every sense from myself and my poor bewildered brethren:  one other Book; and, if it were a right one, rest after that, the deeper the better, forevermore. Ach Gott!—­

Hedge is one of the sturdiest little fellows I have come across for many a day.  A face like a rock; a voice like a howitzer; only his honest kind gray eyes reassure you a little.  We have met only once; but hope (mutually, I flatter myself) it may be often by and by.  That hardy little fellow too, what has he to do with “Semitic tradition” and the “dust-hole of extinct Socinianism,” George-Sandism, and the Twaddle of a thousand Magazines?  Thor and his Hammer, even, seem to me a little more respectable; at least, “My dear Sir, endeavor to clear your mind of Cant.”  Oh, we are all sunk, much deeper than any of us imagines.  And our worship of “beautiful sentiments,” &c., &c. is as contemptible a form of long-ears as any other, perhaps the most so of any.  It is in fact damnable.—­We will say no more of it at present.  Hedge came to me with tall lank Chapman at his side,—­an innocent flail of a creature, with considerable impetus in him:  the two when they stood up together looked like a circle and tangent,—­in more senses than one.

Jacobson, the Oxford Doctor, who welcomed your Concord Senator in that City, writes to me that he has received (with blushes, &c.) some grand “Gift for his Child” from that Traveler; whom I am accordingly to thank, and blush to,—­Jacobson not knowing his address at present.  The “address” of course is still more unknown to me at present:  but we shall know it, and the man it indicates, I hope, again before long.  So, much for that.