“Where thro’ the desert walks the lapwing flies
And tires there echoes with unceasing cries.”

  Channing says I can take his room in the garret of his house, but I think I should take to the tavern. Were you at Walden I should probably storm your castle and make good an entrance, adn perhaps as an act of generous heroism allow you quarters while I remained. But in sober truth I should like to see you and sit or lie down in your room and ear yo growl once more, thou brave old Norseman—thou Thor, thundergod-man. I long to see your long beard, which for a short man is rather a stretch of imagination or understand. C[hanning’ says it is terrible to behold, but improves you mightily.

  How grandly your philosophy sits now in these trying times. I lent my Walden to a broken merchant lately as the best panacea I could offer him for his troubles.

  You should now come out and call together the lost sheep of Israel, though cool-headed pastor, no Corydon forsooth, but genuine Judean fulminate from the banks of Concord upon the banks of Discord and once more set ajog a pure current(t)cy whose peaceful tide may wash us clean once more again. Io Paean!

  Is “Father Alcott” in your city? I should count much on seeing him too-a man who is All-cot should not be without a home at least in his chosen land.

  Don’t be provoked at my nonsense, for anything better would be like “carrying coals to Newcastle.” I would sit at the feet of Gamaliel, so farewell for the present.

  With kind remembrances to your family, I remain,
  Faithfully your friend,
  D. Ricketson

P.S. If I can’t come please inform me.