I have heard no more from them, and now, a fortnight since, the
newspaper announces the death of Mr. Carey. He died very
suddenly, though always an invalid and extremely crippled. His
death is very much regretted in the Philadelphia papers, where he
bore the reputation of a most liberal patron of good and fine
arts. I have not heard from Mr. Furness, and have thought I
should still expect a letter from him. I hope our correspondence
will stand as a contract which Mr. Carey's representatives will
feel bound to execute. They had sent me a little earlier a copy
of Mr. Sartain's engraving from their water-color copy of
Laurence's head of you. They were eager to have the engraving
pronounced a good likeness. I showed it to Sumner, and Russell,
and Theodore Parker, who have seen you long since I had, and they
shook their heads unanimously and declared that D'Orsay's profile
was much more like.
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** From the rough draft.
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I creep along the roads and fields of this town as I have done
from year to year. When my garden is shamefully overgrown with
weeds, I pull up some of them.
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