
          New York, 17 October 1846


 My dear Friend,


 The tenor of your last letter led
 me to anticipate the pleasure of seeing you, (&
 probably our friend Gray [Asa Gray],) long since; but having
 neither seen or heard from either, I am induced
 to drop you a line. My poor Brother [Samuel Thomas Carey], of whose
 illness I informed you, has now been confined
 to his house for 4 weeks, & for the first two
 of them, to his bed, with inflammation of the lungs.
 He is now doing better, & I trust will get about
 again, but Dr. Beales says that the lungs are 
 still obstructed, & he fears that tubercular
 matter has formed, which will never be entirely
 removed. It is uncertain, at present, whether
 a Sea Voyage to a milder climate may not be
 thought necessary for the ensuing Winter. 
 In the meantime, with a view to lighten his
 care, I have tender'd [tendered] my services, in Pine
 Street, where I have now a desk, to render 
 such assistance, as I best may, until he is
 able to return to his Counting House. When
        