Waiting the appointed hour, I sat imagining the scene. I saw _myself_ suddenly rising ('sudden Ianthe rose') from the prone body and all circumjacent grossness--rising, through clouds and darkness, to some delightsome plane of the inner world. A dozen yards in front of me, beside a graceful tree, would stand 'the only.' We would gaze at each other, with intense scrutiny, for some moments. Each would think, 'There is plenty of time; it is to last forever.' We would even look about us, still saying nothing. Being eternally modelled, fitted, fore-ordained, and predestined for each other, love arrows would, of course, have pierced our centres of palpitation at the first mutual glance. Still, though quivering with emotion, neither would be disposed to lessen the distance. Methought we would even seat ourselves on the mossy banks--the dozen yards still intervening--and, each leaning back against a tree, would 'face the enemy'--the eternal joy-sharer, sorrow-sharer, worship, wisdom, love, pity, wonder, use, sport, hope-sharer; while, occasionally, a premonitory, prophetic pang of rapture out of the coming eternities of bliss would thrill through us. I had even a fancy that there would be no interchange of words, no lessening of the coy distance of space and manner, during this first interview. 'It is to last so long! so long!' Again, I fancied that we might sit there only weeping, as we looked and _loved_. 'So long! so long!' Tender, dewy eyes wandering naively, innocently, over each feature of face and form--inquiry, wonder, joy in them--pleased surprise, that such and such points of the vision should be as they are. Indefinite longings becoming definite, as all things longed for appear embodied, as faith is lost in sight. Again, I imagined laconic speech might ensue--like the single-line dialogue of Greek tragedies. But here the wings of imagination drooped, and I could only see the separation. She would glide toward me. Her warm finger-tips would touch my palm, her tender azure eyes would beam once fully and closely upon me. One moment I would see the inner heaven opened; and the next--the familiar furniture of my room would be before me. Thus I imagined. The curious may learn what actually befell, on a future occasion. AMERICAN FINANCES AND RESOURCES. LETTER NO. IV. OF HON. ROBERT J. WALKER. LONDON, 10 Half Moon Street, Piccadilly, _January 1st, 1864._