Now I come to the raid of a London bookseller, Hotten, (of whom I
believe I never told you,) on my forgotten papers in the old
_Dials,_ and other pamphlets here. Conway wrote me that he could
not be resisted,--would certainly steal good and bad,--but might
be guided in the selection. I replied that the act was odious to
me, and I promised to denounce the man and his theft to any
friends I might have in England; but if, instead of printing
then, he would wait a year, I would make my own selection, with
the addition of some later critical papers, and permit the book.
Mr. Ireland in Manchester, and Conway in London, took the affair
kindly in hand, and Hotten acceded to my change. And that is the
next task that threatens my imbecility. But now, ten days ago or
less, my friend John M. Forbes has come to me with a proposition
to carry me off to California, the Yosemite, the Mammoth trees,
and the Pacific, and, after much resistance, I have surrendered
for six weeks, and we set out tomorrow. And hence this sheet of
confession,--that I may not drag a lengthening chain. Meantime,
you have been monthly loading me with good for evil. I have just
counted twenty-three volumes of Carlyle's Library Edition, in
order on my shelves, besides two, or perhaps three, which Ellery
Channing has borrowed. Add, that the precious Chapman's _Homer_
came safely, though not till months after you had told me of its
departure, and shall be guarded henceforward with joy.

_Wednesday, 13, Chicago._--Arrived here and can bring this little
sheet to the post-office here. My daughter Edith Forbes, and
her husband William H. Forbes, and three other friends, accompany me,
and we shall overtake Mr. Forbes senior tomorrow at Burlington, Iowa.