To the Graeber brothers, of Barmen, now in Elberfeld. 
Acknowledging receipt of the esteemed letter of your Herr 
F, Graeber, I am taking the liberty to send you a few lines. Thunder 
and lightning, things are looking up. We will now begin right away 
with the plastic arts. Namely with my fellow lodger by the name of 
George (pronounced as in English) Gorrissen, the greatest Ham- 
burg fop that ever existed. Take the mean between 
the two drawings you see here, place it on a slim 
trunk and long legs, give the eyes a real boorish look, 
a speech exactly like Kirchner’s, only in the Ham- 
burg dialect, and you have the most complete picture 
of this lout that you can get. I wish I could only draw 
him as well as last night when I drew him on a board, 
and it was so like him that everybody recognised him, 
even the maids. Even a painter* who lives in our 
house and otherwise doesn’t think much of anything 
found it very good. This G. Gorrissen is the most 
boorish fellow on earth; he is busy with some new 
nonsense every day and is inexhaustible in commonplace and 
boring ideas. The fellow already has on his conscience at least 
twenty hours that he has bored me. 

To Friedrich and Wilhelm Graeber, September 1, 1838 389 

The other day I bought myself Jacob Grimm’s defence; it is 
extraordinarily good and is written with a rare power. I read no 
less than seven pamphlets about the Cologne affair in one book- 
shop.'*°—N. B. I have read things here and come across 
expressions — I am getting good practice especially in lite- 
rature— which one would never* be allowed to print in ($<) 
our parts, quite liberal ideas, etc., arguments about the le 
old Hanoverian he-goat,” really wonderful. 

There are some sheets with very fine. satirical drawings 
here.— One I saw was rather badly drawn but the faces are very 
characteristic. A tailor on a goat is being stopped by his master 
and the cobblers are looking on. What happens is expressed in 
the text underneath: 

“Old master, don’t stop my charger!” 

But about that next time, for I cannot now get this [...] because 
the Principal‘ is sitting here. Otherwise he’s a terribly nice fellow, 
oh so good, you can’t imagine. 

Excuse me for writing so badly, I have 
three bottles of beer under my belt, hurrah, 
and I cannot write much more because this 
must go to the post at once. It is already bi o 
striking half-past three and letters must be Ce 
there by four o’clock. Good gracious, thunder 
and lightning, you can see that I’ve got some 
beer inside me. [...]@ 

Please have the goodness to scribble me a7 
something in reply right away; Wurm knows | 
my address, and you can give it to him. Oh 
dear, what shall I write? Oh dear, oh dear, oh 
dear. What a lamentable state! The old man, 

i. e., the Principal, is just going out and I am all 

mixed up, I don’t know what I’m writing. 

There are all sorts of noises going on in 

my head. Give my greetings to P. Jonghaus and Roland, the knight 
F. Pliimacher, and tell them to write, and I will of Bremen 
bore them shortly with my scribbling too. Can 

you read my scrawl? 

What will you give me for a pound of muddlement? I have 
heaps in store. Oh dear. 
Your devoted 
Your Honour’s devoted 

F. Engels