Nay I have not at any time forgotten you, be that justice done the unfortunate:  and though I see well enough what a great deep cleft divides us, in our ways of practically looking at this world,—­I see also (as probably you do yourself) where the rock-strata, miles deep, unite again; and the two poor souls are at one.  Poor devils!—­Nay if there were no point of agreement at all, and I were more intolerant “of ways of thinking” than I even am,—­yet has not the man Emerson, from old years, been a Human Friend to me?  Can I ever forget, or think otherwise than lovingly of the man Emerson?  No more of this.  Write to me in your first good hour; and say that there is still a brother-soul left to me alive in this world, and a kind thought surviving far over the sea!—­Chapman, with due punctuality at the time of publication, sent me the Representative Men; which I read in the becoming manner:  you now get the Book offered you for a shilling, at all railway stations; and indeed I perceive the word “representative man"’ (as applied to the late tragic loss we have had in Sir Robert Peel) has been adopted by the Able-Editors, and circulates through Newspapers as an appropriate household word, which is some compensation to you for the piracy you suffer from the Typographic Letter-of-marque men here.  I found the Book a most finished clear and perfect set of Engravings in the line manner; portraitures full of likeness, and abounding in instruction and materials for reflection to me:  thanks always for such a Book; and Heaven send us many more of them. Plato, I think, though it is the most admired by many, did least for me:  little save Socrates with his clogs and big ears remains alive with me from it. Swedenborg is excellent in likeness; excellent in many respects;—­yet I said to myself, on reaching your general conclusion about the man and his struggles:  “Missed the consummate flower and divine ultimate elixir of Philosophy, say you?  By Heaven, in clutching at it, and almost getting it, he has tumbled into Bedlam,—­which is a terrible miss, if it were never so near! A miss fully as good as a mile, I should say!” —­In fact, I generally dissented a little about the end of all these Essays; which was notable, and not without instructive interest to me, as I had so lustily shouted “Hear, hear!” all the way from the beginning up to that stage.—­On the whole, let us have another Book with your earliest convenience:  that is the modest request one makes of you on shutting this.

I know not what I am now going to set about:  the horrible barking of the universal dog-kennel (awakened by these Pamphlets) must still itself again; my poor nerves must recover themselves a little:—­I have much more to say; and by Heaven’s blessing must try to get it said in some way if I live.—­

Bostonian Prescott is here, infinitely lionized by a mob of gentlemen; I have seen him in two places or three (but forbore speech):  the Johnny-cake is good, the twopence worth of currants in it too are good; but if you offer it as a bit of baked Ambrosia, Ach Gott!—­