The Gill, Cummertrees, Annan, N.B.
28 August, 1856
Dear Emerson,--Your Letter alighted here yesterday;* like a
winged Mercury, bringing "airs from Heaven" (in a sense) along
with his news. I understand very well your indisposition to
write; we must conform to it, as to the law of _Chronos_ (oldest
of the gods); but I will murmur always, "It is such a pity as of
almost no other man!"--You are citizen of a "Republic," and
perhaps fancy yourself republican in an eminent degree:
nevertheless I have remarked there is no man of whom I am so
certain always to get something _kingly:_--and whenever your huge
inarticulate America gets settled into _kingdoms,_ of the New
Model, fit for these Ages which are all upon the _Moult_ just
now, and dreadfully like going to the Devil in the interim,--then
will America, and all nations through her, owe the man Emerson a
_debt,_ far greater than either they or he are in the least aware
of at present! That I consider (for myself) to be an ascertained
fact. For which I myself at least am thankful and have long been.
---------
* It is missing now.
---------
It pleases me much to know that this English [book], so long
twinkling in our expectations and always drawn back again, is at
last verily to appear: I wish I could get hold of my copy:
there is no Book that would suit me better just now. But we must
wait for four weeks till we get back to Chelsea,--unless I call
find some trusty hand to extract it from the rubbish that will
have accumulated there, and forward it by post. You speak as if
there were something dreadful said of my own sacred self in that
Book: Courage, my Friend, it will be a most miraculous
occurrence to meet with anything said by you that does me _ill;_
whether the immediate taste of it be sweet or bitter, I will take
it with gratitude, you may depend,--nay even with pleasure, what
perhaps is still more incredible. But an old man deluged for
half a century with the brutally nonsensical vocables of his
fellow-creatures (which he grows to regard soon as _rain,_ "rain
of frogs" or the like, and lifts his umbrella against with
indifference),--such an old gentleman, I assure you, is grateful
for a word that he can recognize perennial sense in; as in this
case is his sure hope. And so be the little Book thrice welcome;
and let all England understand (as some choice portion of England
will) that there has not been a man talking about us these very
many years whose words are worth the least attention in comparison.
"Post passing!" I must end, in mid-course; so much still
untouched upon. Thanks for Sampson & Co., and let them go their
course upon me. If I can see Mrs. --- about the end of September
or after, I shall be right glad:--but I fear she will have fled
before that?--
I am here in my native Country, riding, seabathing, living on
country diet,--uttering no word,--now into the fifth week; have
had such a "retreat" as no La Trappe hardly could have offered
me. A "retreat" _without cilices,_ thistle-mattresses; and with
_silent_ devotions (if any) instead of blockhead spoken ones to
the Virgin and others! There is still an Excursion to the
Highlands ahead, which cannot be avoided;--then home again to
_peine forte et dure._ Good be with you always, dear friend.
--T. Carlyle