I shall have to prate of my
daughters;--Edith Forbes, with her two children at Milton; Ellen
Emerson at home, herself a godsend to this house day by day; and
my son Edward studying medicine in Boston,--whom I have ever
meant and still mean to send that he may see your face when that
professional curriculum winds up.
I manage to read a few books and look into more. Herman Grimm
sent me lately a good one, Goethe's _Unterhaltungen_ with
Muller,--which set me on Varnhagen and others. My wife sends old
regards, and her joy in this occasion.
Yours ever,
R.W. Emerson
P.S. Mr. Eliot took my rough counting of Volumes as correct.
When he sends me back the catalogue, I will make it exact.--I
sent you last week a little book by book-post.
CLXXXII. Carlyle to Emerson
5 Cheyne Row, Chelsea, 24 March, 1870
My Dear Emerson,--The day before yesterday, I heard incidentally
of an unfortunate Mail Steamer, bound for America, which had lost
its screw or some essential part of it; and so had, instead of
carrying its Letters forward to America, been drifting about like
a helpless log on the shores of Ireland till some three days ago,
when its Letters and Passengers were taken out, and actually
forwarded, thither.
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