the Painter, and it is now here in the
hands of his Brother, who will readily allow any authorized
person to take a drawing of it. Lawrence himself, I imagine,
would be the fittest man to employ; or your Mr. Ingham [Inman],
if he be here and a capable person: one or both of these might
superintend the Engraving of it here, and not part with the plate
till it were pronounced satisfactory. In short, I am willing to
do "anything in reason"! Only if a Portrait is to be, I confess
I should rather avoid going abroad under the hands of bunglers,
at least of bunglers sanctioned by myself. There is a Portrait
of me in some miserable farrago called _Spirit of the Age;_* a
farrago unknown to me, but a Portrait known, for poor Lawrence
brought it down to me with sorrow in his face; it professes to
be from his painting; is a "Lais _without_ the beauty" (as
Charles Lamb used to say); a flayed horse's head without the
spiritualism, good or bad,--and simply figures on my mind as a
detestability; which I had much rather never have seen. These
poor _Spirit of the Age_ people applied to me; I described
myself as "busy," &c.; shoved them off me; and this monster of
iniquity, resembling Nothing in the Earth or under it, is the
result. In short, I am willing, I am willing; and so let us not
waste another drop of ink on it at present!--On the whole, are
not you a strange fellow? You apologize as if with real pain for
"trouble" I had, or indeed am falsely supposed to have had, with
Chapman here; and forthwith engage again in correspondences, in
speculations, and negotiations, and I know not what, on my
behalf! For shame, for shame! Nay, you have done one very
ingenious thing; to set Clark upon the Boston Booksellers'
accounts: it is excellent; Michael Scott setting the Devil
to twist ropes of sand, "There, my brave one; see if you don't
find work there for a while!" I never think of this Clark
without love and laughter. Once more, _Euge!_ Chapman is fast
selling your Books here; striking off a new Five Hundred from
his Stereotypes. You are wrong as to your Public in this
Country; it is a very pretty public; extends pretty much,
I believe, through all ranks, and is a growing one,--and a truly
_aristocratic,_ being of the bravest inquiring minds we have.
All things are breaking up here, like Swedish Frost in the end of
March; _gachis epouvantable._ Deep, very serious eternal
instincts, are at work; but as ye