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You are bountiful abundantly in your reception of those Latter Day Pamphlets; and right in all you say of them;—­and yet withal you are not right, my Friend, but I am!  Truly it does behove a man to know the inmost resources of this universe, and, for the sake both of his peace and of his dignity, to possess his soul in patience, and look nothing doubting (nothing wincing even, if that be his humor) upon all things.  For it is most indubitable there is good in all;—­and if you even see an Oliver Cromwell assassinated, it is certain you may get a cartload of turnips from his carcass.  Ah me, and I suppose we had too much forgotten all this, or there had not been a man like you sent to show it us so emphatically!  Let us well remember it; and yet remember too that it is not good always, or ever, to be “at ease in Zion”; good often to be in fierce rage in Zion; and that the vile Pythons of this Mud-World do verily require to have sun-arrows shot into them and red-hot pokers struck through them, according to occasion:  woe to the man that carries either of these weapons, and does not use it in their presence!  Here, at this moment, a miserable Italian organ-grinder has struck up the Marseillaise under my window, for example:  was the Marseillaise fought out on a bed of down, or is it worth nothing when fought?  On those wretched Pamphlets I set no value at all, or even less than none:  to me their one benefit is, my own heart is clear of them (a benefit not to be despised, I assure you!)—­and in the Public, athwart this storm of curses, and emptyings of vessels of dishonor, I can already perceive that it is all well enough there too in reference to them; and the controversy of the Eighteen millions versus the Eighteen thousands, or Eighteen units, is going on very handsomely in that quarter of it, for aught I can see!  And so, Peace to the brave that are departed; and, Tomorrow to fresh fields and pastures new!—­

I was in Wales, as well as Scotland, during Autumn time; lived three weeks within wind of St. Germanus’s old “College” (Fourteen Hundred years of age or so) and also not far from Merthyr Tydvil, Cyclops’ Hell, sootiest and horridest avatar of the Industrial Mammon I had ever anywhere seen; went through the Severn Valley; at Bath stayed a night with Landor (a proud and high old man, who charged me with express remembrances for you); saw Tennyson too, in Cumberland, with his new Wife; and other beautiful recommendable and ’questionable things;—­and was dreadfully tossed about, and torn almost to tatters by the manifold brambles of my way:  and so at length am here, a much-lamed man indeed!  Oh my Friend, have tolerance for me, have sympathy with me; you know not quite (I imagine) what a burden mine is, or perhaps you would find this duty, which you always do, a little easier done!  Be happy, be busy beside your still waters, and think kindly of me there.  My nerves, health I call them, are in a sad state of disorder:  alas, that is nine tenths of all the battle in this world.  Courage, courage!—­My Wife sends salutations to you and yours.  Good be with you all always.