to send a paper like this.  The hour when this should be despatched finds me by chance very busy with little affairs.  I sent you by an Italian, Signor Gambardella,*—­ who took a letter to you with good intent to persuade you to sit to him for your portrait,—­a Dial, and some copies of an oration I printed lately.  If you should have any opportunity to send one of them to Harriet Martineau, my debts to her are great, and I wish to acknowledge her abounding kindness by a letter, as I must.  I am now in the rage of preparation for my Lectures “On the Times;” which begin in a fortnight.  There shall be eight, but I cannot yet accurately divide the topics.  If it were eighty, I could better.  In fear lest this sheet should not safely and timely reach its man, I must now write some duplicate.

Farewell, dear friend. 
                 R.W.  Emerson

--------
* Spiridione Gambardella was born at Naples.   He was a refugee
from Italy, having escaped, the story was, on board an American
man-of-war.   He had been educated as a public singer, but he had
a facile genius, and turned readily to painting as a means of
livelihood.   He painted some excellent portraits in Boston,
between 1835 and 1840, among them one of Dr. Channing, and one of
Dr. Follen;  both of these were engraved.   He had some success
for a time as a portrait-painter in London.
----------

LXXI.  Carlyle to Emerson

Chelsea, London, 19 November, 1841

Dear Emerson,—­Since that going down of the American Timber-ship on one of the Banks of the Solway under my window, I do not remember that you have heard a word of me.  I only added that the men were all saved, and the beach all in agitation, certain women not far from hysterics;—­and there ended.  I did design to send you some announcement of our return hither; but fear there is no chance that I did it!  About ten days ago the Signor Gambardella arrived, with a Note and Books from you:  and here now is your Letter of October 30th; which, arriving at a moment when I have a little leisure, draws forth an answer almost instantly.

The Signor Gambardella, whom we are to see a second time tonight or tomorrow, amuses and interests us not a little.  His face is the very image of the Classic God Pan’s; with horns, and cloven feet, we feel that he would make a perfect wood-god;—­really, some of Poussin’s Satyrs are almost portraits of this brave Gambardella.  I will warrant him a right glowing mass of Southern-Italian vitality,—­full of laughter, wild insight, caricature, and every sort of energy and joyous savagery:  a most profitable element to get introduced (in moderate quantity), I should say, into the general current of your Puritan blood over in New England there!  Gambardella has behaved with magnanimity in that matter of the Portrait:  I have already sat, to men in the like case, some four times, and Gambardella knows it