od as none. The type and shape is the
same as that of late _Lectures on Heroes._ Robson the Printer,
who is a very punctual intelligent man, a scholar withal,
undertook to be himself the corrector of the other sheets. I
hope you will find them "exactly conformable to the text, _minus_
mere Typographical blunders and the more salient American
spellings (labor for labour, &c.)." The Book is perhaps just
getting itself subscribed in these very days. It should have
been out before now: but poor Fraser is in the country,
dangerously ill, which perhaps retards it a little; and the
season, at any rate, is at the very dullest. By the first
conveyance I will send a certain Lady two copies of it. Little
danger but the Edition will sell; Fraser knows his own Trade
well enough, and is as much a "desperado" as poor Attila
Schmelzle was! Poor James, I wish he were well again; but
really at times I am very anxious about him.--The Book will sell;
will be liked and disliked. Harriet Martineau, whom I saw in
passing hitherward, writes with her accustomed enthusiasm about
it. Richard Milnes too is very warm. John Sterling scolds and
kisses it (as the manner of the man is), and concludes by
inquiring, whether there is any procurable Likeness of Emerson?
Emerson himself can answer. There ought to be.

--Good Heavens! Here came my Wife, all in tears, pointing out to
me a poor ship, just tumbled over on a sand-bank on the
Cumberland coast; men still said to be alive on it,--a Belfast
steamer doing all it can to get in contact with it! Moments are
precious (say the people on the beach), the flood runs ten miles
an hour. Thank God, the steamer's boat is out: "eleven men,"
says a person with a glass, "are saved: it is an American
timber-ship, coming up without a Pilot." And now--in ten minutes
more--there lies the melancholy mass alone among the waters,
wreck-boats all hastening towards it, like birds of prey; the
poor Canadians all up and away towards Annan. What an end for my
Letter, which nevertheless must end! Adieu, dear Emerson.
Address to Chelsea next time. I can say no more.

Yours ever,
T.C.

LXIX. Emerson to Carlyle

Concord, 30 October, 1841

My Dear Carlyle,--I was in Boston yesterday, and found at
Munroe's your promised packet of the two London Books. They are
very handsome,--that for my wife is beautiful,--and I am not so
old or so cold but that I can feel the hope and the pleasure