I am overworked certainly very much but I am not unusually unwell. I am afraid I cannot come to Hartford until my book is in type, which I hope will be before Thanksgiving. Dix was gone for a fortnight on our business at the West which gave me unusual labor, besides the unusual labor of correcting proofs, &c.

I begin to print with some fifty pages at the end unfinished—calculating to write them up while the bulk of it was being set. But I have not yet had time to write a page of it. It is to be sure partly in my own hands: a good [374] deal of my time having been occupied in re-touching the early part—particularly the historical sketch of the political economy of Virginia, which I deem very important and very valuable.

To get myself clear of all other distractions I have been engaging myself to go to the island to spend some days in which to write up my narrative conclusion every day—for the next day—since Dix got back a week or more since, but am everyday detained by some absolute constrainment. I can’t, as I might usually, make a clerk do some of my work because they are so extremely engaged at the office. Edwards has hardly left, or either of the clerks or porter, before 12 midnight at night for some weeks—being engaged chiefly in folding & wrapping advertizing circulars, &c.

As for my book I am much worried by its bulk. It seems likely to run to two volumes of good size & Dix says will have to be sold at $2.50—which is enough, I apprehend, to ruin a great circulation. I am going to own it myself, paying the firm a percentage for publishing. If it fails the loss is mine; if it has large sale, I get the lion’s share of profits.

This ponderosity becomes a goblin of botheration to me. Reputation or notoriety it can not fail to give me—not perhaps friendship but respect, I think. For while I strike right & left and strike hard I do so respectfully and with the grace of sincerity. The style of the heavier parts of the book will I think be considered good. I am certain that I have gained much power in that respect while writing it.

I have said some unpleasant things from a sense of duty. I thought they ought to be said & nobody else appeared to be ready to say them. If they are true they will now make their way—if not, it will be discovered.

Henry Barnes was here night before last. He has a daughter a month old. Brace spent last night with me. He has taken a house in town for the winter.

I borrowed $300 of Patten the other day while Edwards was waiting to hear from you. He was very cold. Edwards speaks confidently of the future & so far as I am judge with reason, but he is tight driven now & we greatly need more capital to take proper advantage of our opportunities. If another good man should offer with capital, we should not decline. What we most want besides capital is a salesman traveller. None of us can be spared from station duties, while we find personal presence in the exterior markets of the greatest value.

I rather regret we have undertaken the Child’s Magazine. It will need much capital & labor to make it very valuable or honorable to us.

Mrs. Kirkland will be the editorial contributor & Charles Elliott & Miss Terry regular contributors. Aid from Godwin & others is also engaged. All to be well paid.

I mean now to go to the island Saturday & hope to stay down some days—having proof sheets sent me at night to be returned in the morning.

I said my health was not very bad. It is no way different from usual, but I have got excessively fatigued lately, as if I was going out at the knees (from going upstairs so much I suppose) & I grow thin & pale some, I suppose from [375] lack of sleep. For I can’t help writing very late now—& don’t sleep after nine at latest. During the day I am too subject to interruptions to write absorbingly. Sam Brooks of Cheshire—Linda’s boy—was in today. Is looking for a French teacher—woman—for Mrs. LeConte. How are you all?

Your affectionate son,