returned to you, I shall bring more with me. By that time I shall have visited the most Northern States of the Union, the land of the White Mountains and the Indians, and that great West, “that great wonderful West,” as the people of the West call it; where, in the vast valley of the Mississippi, there is said to be room for more than two hundred and fifty millions of people to live comfortably; where rich American corn grows in unexampled luxuriance, and where one first begins fully to comprehend the phenomenon of the United States' progress, or as it is called “growth.” As regards this growth, this progress, and in what it properly consists, I hope at some future time to converse with you.
When I may see you again—whether this autumn, or not until next spring—I do not know. If my mother and sister consent I shall remain over the winter. The great kindness and hospitality with which I am received, makes it easy for me to visit very distant States and places. This is a blessing for which I cannot be sufficiently grateful. This hospitality, however, which would make my life a perpetual festival, is too much for the powers of my mind and body. The nation has a warm, youthful heart, and that one must confess with pleasure and gratitude, even if one is one's self too old or too stupid properly to receive what they wish to give.
The very reception, both outwardly and spiritually, which they give you is a part of this youthfulness of life. America is a hospitable land for strangers, not alone as they may come outwardly in flesh and blood, but as regards thoughts and ideas. And this is shown by the veneration which is felt for many of the scientific names of Europe. And I expect to see much seed of future development germinating here, in consequence of the increasing and more inward approximation of the American and Scandinavian mind. You are here generally known, and are becoming more and more so every day. When H.
