Dear Emerson,--I know not whose turn it is to write; though a
suspicion has long attended me that it was yours, and above all
an indisputable wish that you would do it: but this present is a
cursory line, all on business,--and as usual all on business of
my own.
I have finished a Book, and just set the Printer to it; one
solid volume (rather bigger than one of the _French Revolution_
Volumes, as I compute); it is a somewhat fiery and questionable
"Tract for the Times," _not_ by a Puseyite, which the terrible
aspect of things here has forced from me,--I know not whether as
preliminary to _Oliver_ or not; but it had gradually grown to be
the preliminary of anything possible for me: so there it is
written; and I am a very sick, but withal a comparatively very
free man. The Title of the thing is to be _Past and Present:_
it is divided into Four Books, "Book I. Proem," "Book II. The
Ancient Monk," "Book III. The Modern Worker," and "Book IV.
Horoscope" (or some such thing):--the size of it I guessed
at above.
The practical business, accordingly, is: How to cut out that New
York scoundrel, who fancies that because there is no gallows it
is permitted to steal? I have a distinct desire to do that;--
altogether apart from the money to be gained thereby. A friend's
goodness ought not to be frustrated by a scoundrel destitute of
gallows.--You told me long since how to do the operation; and
here, according to the best way I had of fitting your scheme into
my materials, is my way of attempting it.
The Book will not be out here for six good weeks from this date;
it could be kept back for a week or two longer, if that were
indispensable: but I hope it may not. In three weeks, half of
it will be printed; I, in the meanwhile, get a correct
manuscript Copy of the latter half made ready: joining the
printed sheets and this manuscript, your Bookseller will have a
three weeks' start of any rival, if I instantly despatch the
Parcel to him. Will this do? this with the announcement of the
Title as given above? Pray write to me straightway, and say.
Your answer will be here before we can publish; and the Packet
of Proof-sheets and Manuscript may go off whether there be word
from you or none.--And so enough of _Past and Present._ And
indeed enough of all things, for my haste is excessive in
these hours.
The last _Dial_ came to me about three weeks ago _as a
Post-Letter,_ charged something like a guinea of postage, if
I remember; so it had to be rejected, and I have not yet seen
that Number; but will when my leeway is once brought up a little
again. The two preceding Numbers were, to a marked extent, more
like life than anything I had seen before of the _Dial._ There
was not indeed anything, except the Emersonian Papers alone,
which I know by the first ring of them on the tympanum of the
mind, that I properly speaking _liked;_ but there was much that
I did not dislike, and did half like; and I say, "_I fausto
pede;_ that will decidedly do better!" By the bye, it were as
well if you kept rather a strict outlook on Alcott and his
English _Tail,_--I mean so far as we here have any business with
it. Bottomless imbeciles ought not to be seen in company with
Ralph Waldo Emerson, who has already men listening to him on this
side of the water. The "Tail" has an individual or two of that
genus,--and the rest is mainly yet undecided. For example, I
knew old --- myself; and can testify, if you will believe me,
that few greater blockheads (if "blockhead" may mean "exasperated
imbecile" and the ninth part of a thinker) broke the world's
bread in his day. Have a care of such! I say always to myself,
--and to you, which you forgive me.
Adieu, my dear Emerson. May a good Genius guide you; for you
are _alone, alone;_ and have a steep pilgrimage to make,--
leading _high,_ if you do not slip or stumble!
Ever your affectionate,
T. Carlyle