a Miscellanies in three volumes:  that is their plan of publishing an English edition; and the outlook they hold out for me is certain trouble in this matter, and recompense entirely uncertain.  I think on the whole it is extremely likely I shall apply to you for Two Hundred and Fifty copies (that is their favorite number) of these four volumes, (nay, if it be of any moment, you can bind me down to it now, and take it for sure,) but I cannot yet send you the title-page; no bookseller purchasing till “we see it first.”  But after all, will it suit America to print an unequal number of your two pairs of volumes?  Do not the two together make one work?  On the whole, consider that I shall in all likelihood want Two Hundred and Fifty copies, and consider it certain if that will serve the enterprise:  we must leave it here today.  I will stir in it now, however, and take no rest till in one way or other you do get a title-page from me, or some definite deliverance on the matter.  O Athenians, what a trouble I give, having got your applauses!

Kennet the Bookseller gave me yesterday (on my way to “the City” with that Brother of mine, the Italian Doctor who is here at present and a great lover of yours) ten copies of your Dartmouth Oration:  we read it over dinner in a chop-house in Bucklersbury, amid the clatter of some fifty stand of knives and forks; and a second time more leisurely at Chelsea here.  A right brave Speech; announcing, in its own way, with emphasis of full conviction, to all whom it may concern, that great forgotten truth, Man is still man. May it awaken a pulsation under the ribs of Death!  I believe the time is come for such a Gospel.  They must speak it out who have it,—­with what audience there may be.  I have given away two copies this morning; I will take care of the rest.  Go on, and speed.—­And now where is the heterodox Divinity one, which awakens such “tempest in a washbowl,” brings Goethe, Transcendentalism, and Carlyle into question, and on the whole evinces “what [difference] New England also makes between Pan-theism and Pot-theism”?  I long to see that; I expect to congratulate you on that too.  Meanwhile we will let the washbowl storm itself out; and Emerson at Concord shall recognize it for a washbowl storming, and hold on his way.  As to my share in it, grieve not for half an instant.  Pantheism, Pottheism, Mydoxy, Thydoxy, are nothing at all to me; a weariness the whole jargon, which I avoid speaking of, decline listening to:  Live, for God’s sake, with what Faith thou couldst get; leave off speaking about Faith!  Thou knowest it not.  Be silent, do not speak.—­As to you, my friend, you are even to go on, giving still harder shocks if need be; and should I come into censure by means of you, there or here, think that I am proud of my company; that, as the boy Hazlitt said after hearing Coleridge, “I will go with that man”; or, as our wild Burns has it,