Dear Friend,--This day came the letter dated 24 June, with "steam
packet" written by you on the outside, but no paddles wheeled it
through the sea. It is forty-five days old, and too old to do
its errand even had it come twenty days sooner--so far as printer
and bookbinder are concerned. I am truly grieved for the
mischance of the _John_ Fraser, and will duly lecture the sinning
bookseller. I noticed the misnomer in a letter of his New York
correspondent, and, I believe, mentioned to you in a letter my
fear of such a mischance. I am more sorry for the costliness
of this adventure to you, though in a gracious note to me you
cut down the fine one half. The new books, tardily printed,
were tardily bound and tardily put to sea on the packet ship
"Ontario," which left New York for London on the 1st of August.
At least this was the promise of Munroe & Co. I stood over the
boxes in which they were packing them in the latter days of July.
I hope they have not gone to John again, but you must keep an eye
to both names....
I cannot tell you how glad I am that you have seen my brave
Senator, and seen him as I see him. All my days I have wished
that he should go to England, and never more than when I listened
two or three times to debates in the House of Commons. We send
out usually mean persons as public agents, mere partisans, for
whom I can only hope that no man with eyes will meet them; and
now those thirsty eyes, those portrait-eating, portrait-painting
eyes of thine, those fatal perceptions, have fallen full on the
great forehead which I followed about all my young days, from
court-house to senate-chamber, from caucus to street. He has his
own sins no doubt, is no saint, is a prodigal. He has drunk this
rum of Party too so long, that his strong head is soaked,
sometimes even like the soft sponges, but the "man's a man for a'
that." Better, he is a great boy,--as wilful, as nonchalant and
good-humored. But you must hear him speak, not a show speech
which he never does well, but _with cause_ he can strike a stroke
like a smith. I owe to him a hundred fine hours and two or three
moments of Eloquence. His voice in a great house is admirable.
I am sorry if you decided not to visit him. He loves a _man,_
too. I do not know him, but my brother Edward read law with him,
and loved him, and afterwards in sick and unfortunate days
received the steadiest kindness from him.
Well, I am glad you are to think in earnest in Scotland of our
Cisatlantic claims. We shall have more rights over the wise and
brave, I believe before many years or months. We shall have more
men and a better cause than has yet moved on our stagnant waters.
I think our Church, so called, must presently vanish. There is a
universal timidity, conformity, and rage; and on the other hand
the most resolute realism in the young. The man Alcott bides his
time. I have a young poet in this village named Thoreau, who
writes the truest verses. I pine to show you my treasures; and
tell your wife, we have women who deserve to know her.
--R.W. Emerson
The Yankees read and study the new volumes of _Miscellanies_ even
more than the old. The "Sam Johnson" and "Scott" are great
favorites. Stearns Wheeler corrected proofs affectionately to
the last. Truth and Health be with you alway!