I have written in vain to James to visit me, or to send me
tidings. He sent me, without any note, the parcel you confided
to him, and has gone to Albany, or I know not whither.
I have your notes of the progress of my London printing, and, at
last, the book itself. It was thoughtless in me to ask your
attention to the book at all in the proof state; the printer
might have been fully trusted with corrected printed pages before
him. Nor should Chapman have taxed you for an advertisement;
only, I doubt not he was glad of a chance to have business with
you; and, of course, was too thankful for any Preface. Thanks
to you for the kind thought of a "Notice," and for its friendly
wit. You shall not do this thing again, if I should send you any
more books. A Preface from you is a sort of banner or oriflamme,
a little too splendid for my occasion, and misleads. I fancy my
readers to be a very quiet, plain, even obscure class,--men and
women of some religious culture and aspirations, young, or else
mystical, and by no means including the great literary and
fashionable army, which no man can count, who now read your
books.
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