Yours, A. V. HUMBOLDT. 30. HUMBOLDT TO VARNHAGEN. SATURDAY, _July 1st, 1837_. To-morrow to Tegel,[16] and on Monday I depart for the eternal spring,[17] at which the sight of the Prince of Warsaw will not lessen my sadness; I cannot, therefore, thank you personally. Sophie Charlotte[18] and Hegel’s Philosophy of History will accompany me, and both will delight me greatly. My soul rather turns to you. I shall certainly find a torrent of ideas in that Hegel, whom his editor, Gans, in so masterly a manner has not deprived of his great individuality; but a man who is as I am, like an insect, inseparable from the earth and its natural variations, feels himself uneasy and constrained at an abstract assertion of totally unfounded facts and views on America and the Indian world. At the same time I appreciate what is grand in the conception of Hegel. With you all is profound and subdued, and you possess what is wanting in the other, unceasing grace and freshness of language. A. HUMBOLDT. I have badly arranged my life; I do every thing for becoming prematurely stupid. I would gladly abandon “the European beef,” which Hegel’s phantasy presents as so much better than the American, and I could almost wish to live near the weak inanimate crocodiles (which, alas! measure 25 feet). Pp. 442–444, are certainly made more palatable to me by our noble friend. 31. HUMBOLDT TO VARNHAGEN. BERLIN, _October 4th, 1837_. You delight sometimes in arresting fleeting events, and in preserving what the winds usually carry away. I therefore send you, dear friend, the little speech, which the papers have published in such a mutilated form. The sense of it will please you, although its neglected style might be better. _Political_ Hanover I found, as you supposed; and private conversations with King Ernest, which at the same time express wrath and fear, confirm the view. Leist of Stade with his report, which lasted five hours, has lately done harm by his flattery. Yours, A. HT. Stieglitz, Wilhelm’s oldest friend, and who once saved his life in the Leine river (my brother cried out to him, with unexampled stoicism; “I die, but it does not matter,”) was to me a serious apparition of a ghost. The effect of his spirit upon me is uncomfortable. 32. HUMBOLDT TO VARNHAGEN. SUNDAY, _October 22d, 1837_. _Six o’clock_, A. M.