1832.—I am thinking how I omitted to talk a volume to you about the ‘Elective Affinities.’ Now I shall never say half of it, for which I, on my own account, am sorry. But two or three things I would ask:— What do you think of Charlotte's proposition, that the accomplished pedagogue must be tiresome in society? Of Ottilia's, that the afflicted, and ill-educated, are oftentimes singled out by fate to instruct others, and her beautiful reasons why? And what have you thought of the discussion touching graves and monuments? I am now going to dream of your sermon, and of Ottilia's china-asters. Both shall be driven from my head to-morrow, for I go to town, allured by despatches from thence, promising much entertainment. Woe unto them if they disappoint me! Consider it, I pray you, as the ‘nearest duty’ to answer my questions, and not act as you did about the sphinx-song.
I have not anybody to speak to, that does not talk common-place, and I wish to talk about such an uncommon person,—about Novalis! a wondrous youth, and who has only written one volume. That is pleasant! I feel as though I could pursue my natural mode with him, get acquainted, then make my mind easy in the belief that I know all that is to be known. And he died at twenty-nine, and, as with Korner, your feelings may be single; you will never be called upon to share his experience, and compare his future feelings with his present. And his life was so full and so still.