indisputable: that I must seek another craft than literature for
these years that may remain to me. Surely, I often say, if ever
man had a finger-of-Providence shown him, thou hast it; literature
will neither yield thee bread, nor a stomach to digest bread with:
quit it in God's name, shouldst thou take spade and mattock instead.
The truth is, I believe literature to be as good as dead and gone
in all parts of Europe at this moment, and nothing but hungry
Revolt and Radicalism appointed us for perhaps three generations;
I do not see how a man can honestly live by writing in another
dialect than that, in England at least; so that if you determine
on not living dishonestly, it will behove you to look several
things full in the face, and ascertain what is what with some
distinctness. I suffer also terribly from the solitary existence
I have all along had; it is becoming a kind of passion with me,
to feel myself among my brothers. And then, How? Alas! I
care not a doit for Radicalism, nay I feel it to be a wretched
necessity, unfit for me; Conservatism being not unfit only
but false for me: yet these two are the grand Categories
under which all English spiritual activity that so much as
thinks remuneration possible must range itself. I look
around accordingly on a most wonderful vortex of things; and
pray to God only, that as my day, is so my strength may be.
What will come out of it is wholly uncertain: for I have
possibilities too; the possibilities of London are far from
exhausted yet: I have a brave brother, who invites me to
come and be quiet with him in Rome; a brave friend (known to
you) who opens the door of a new Western world,--and so we will
stand considering and consulting, at least till the Book be over.
Are all these things interesting to you? I know they are.