erous to a fault, generous to the shaming of me,
cold, fastidious, ebbing person that I am. Already in a former
letter you had said too much good of my poor little arid book,--
which is as sand to my eyes,--and now in this you tell me it
shall be printed in London, and graced with a preface from the
man of men. I can only say that I heartily wish the book were
better, and I must try and deserve so much favor from the kind
gods by a bolder and truer living in the months to come; such as
may perchance one day relax and invigorate this cramp hand of
mine, and teach it to draw some grand and adequate strokes, which
other men may find their own account and not their good-nature in
repeating. Yet I think I shall never be killed by my ambition.
I behold my failures and shortcomings there in writing, wherein
it would give me much joy to thrive, with an equanimity which my
worst enemy might be glad to see. And yet it is not that I am
occupied with better things. One could well leave to others the
record, who was absorbed in the life. But I have done nothing.
I think the branch of the "tree of life" which headed to a bud in
me, curtailed me somehow of a drop or two of sap, and so dwarfed
all my florets and drupes. Yet as I tell you I am very easy in
my mind, and never dream of suicide. My whole philosophy--which
is very real--teaches acquiescence and optimism. Only when I see
how much work is to be done, what room for a poet--for any
spiritualist--in this great, intelligent, sensual, and avaricious
America, I lament my fumbling fingers and stammering tongue. I
have sometimes fancied I was to catch sympathetic activity from
contact with noble persons; that you would come and see me;
that I should form stricter habits of love and conversation with
some men and women here who are already dear to me,--and at some
rate get off the numb palsy, and feel the new blood sting and
tingle in my fingers' ends. Well, sure I am that the right word
will be spoken though I cut out my tongue. Thanks, too, to your
munificent Fraser for his liberal intention to divide the profits
of the _Essays._ I wish, for the encouragement of such a
bookseller, there were to be profits to divide. But I have no
faith in your public for their heed to a mere book like mine.
There are things I should like to say to them, in a lecture-room
or in a "steeple house," if I were there. Seven hundred and
fifty copies! Ah no!

And so my dear brother has