Who like the one of old that appeared to Daniel, Zachariah, &c. hath in these latter days appeared unto the least of all Daniels,—Greetings,—

  I have just received and read your genuine epistle of the 5th Inst. You satisfy me fully in regards to C and I trust we shall draw with an even yoke in future. I had though of attempting something by way of reviving his poems. A new public has grown up since their appearance, and their assasinator Poe, lies in the Potter’s Field at Baltimore, without a stone to mark his grave, as somebody in the Home Houral of this week, says: and thus hath Nemesis overtaken him.

  Mrs Ricketson as well as myself have felt a good deal of sympathy for Mrs. C. but of course the matter cannot be spoken of to C.

  I think however, that he is now working for his family. His courage and endurance under the circumstances are wonderful. Unless he has a very strong physical as well as mental constitution, I fear he will suffer, & perhaps break down. I conclude you received my newspaper notice of Mr. Emerson’s explosion before the N.B. Lyceum, although you make no mention of it. You may be surprised at my sudden regard for his genius, but not more so than myself. It came by revelation. I had never, I believe, read a page of his writing when I heard his lecture. How I came to go to hear him I hardly know, and must conclude that my good Gabriel led me there.
Don’t despair of me yet, I am getting along bravely in my shanty & hope to crown in due time. Somehow too, I am getting wonderfully interested in ancient lore, and am delighted to find that there were odd fellows like you & I & C. some hundred years before our data.

  How wonderfully daylight shines upon us at times.

  I no longer wonder that you had Homer, Valmiki, Vyasa &c in your Walden Shanty. They have already peeped into my windows & I shall not be surprised to have them seated within as my guests ere long. You need not be astonished if you hear of my swearing in Sanscrit or at least in Pan scrit!

  I have just got a taste of these old fellows, and what a glorious feast awaits me. What a lucky mortal are you to be the possessor of these priceless treasures, sent you from England. I am about starting upon a pilgrimage into the country of those ancient Hindus, and already in fancy at least see the “gigantic peaks of the Himalayas” and sit beneath “the tremendous heights of the Dhawalagiri range”—so far as the rail way of books can convey me there. Give me your hand Gabriel, and lead the way.

  Now for the present time. We are beginning to have spring here—and I have already heard the warbling of the blue-bird near the Shanty—but did not get a sight of one. The bluebird once appeared here as early as the middle of February, but disappeared as the weather proved colder & did not return until about the middle of March. I am sorry you talk so discouragingly about coming this way this spring. Dont be afraid of me my dear Gabriel—I will do you no harm. I have my fears also. I conclude that I am too social for you, although this is a sin I have never been accused of. Think of it again, about coming here; but dont come unless you get a clear ‘response from your oracle’ I quote Gabriel himself. I am quite humbled at your halting—the cords of love do not draw you and I have none stronger to bring into requisition, but I shall not release you without a struggle.—May I not then expect you in May—things may be done in that month which none other in the calendar admit of. It is the month of May bees—so some fine morning may you alight here a thoro’ maybee fresh from Musketquid. Then you and Channing & I can sit in the little hermitage like the Gymnsophists of old, and you may do the stamping on the ground to any Alexander that may offer himself as intruder.

  I copy from my Journal of this day the following for your edification!

  “Orphics” by a Modern Hundu.

  The ancient Hindus of course wrote no “orphics.” -the gentleman is a Modern.

  In proportion as we see the merits of others we add to our own.

  Mind is every in the Spring—one eternal May morning—the same in its original freshness whether in the Sanscrit, the Greek and other languages or the English as a Medium of expression.

  Mind has an eternal youth.

  “Haunted forever by the eternal mind” is a fine thought of Wordsworth, himself a philosopher and priest of Nature. Man must ever mind this to be true—the thoughtful man.

  Yours warmly
  D. the least