Concord, 23 January, 1870*

My Dear Carlyle,--'T is a sad apology that I have to offer for

delays which no apology can retrieve. I received your first

letter with pure joy, but in the midst of extreme inefficiency.

I had suddenly yielded to a proposition of Fields & Co. to

manufacture a book for a given day. The book was planned, and

going on passably, when it was found better to divide the matter,

and separate, and postpone the purely literary portion (criticism

chiefly), and therefore to modify and swell the elected part.

The attempt proved more difficult than I had believed, for I only

write by spasms, and these ever more rare,--and daemons that have

no ears. Meantime the publication day was announced, and the

printer at the door. Then came your letter in the shortening

days. When I drudged to keep my word, _invita Minerva._

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* This letter is printed from an imperfect rough draft.

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I could not write in my book, and I could not write a letter.

Tomorrow and many morrows made things worse, for we have

indifferent health in the house, and, as it chanced, unusual

strain of affairs,--which always come when they should not. For

one thing--I have just sold a house which I once built opposite

my own. But I will leave the bad month, which I hope will not

match itself in my lifetime. Only 't is pathetic and remorseful

to me that any purpose of yours, especially, a purpose so

inspired, should find me imbecile.

Heartily I delight in your proposed disposition of the books. It

has every charm of surprise, and nobleness, and large affection.

The act will deeply gratify a multitude of good men, who will see

in it your real sympathy with the welfare of the country. I hate

that there should be a moment of delay in the completing of your

provisions,--and that I of all men should be the cause! Norton's

letter is perfect on his part, and needs no addition, I believe,

from me. You had not in your first letter named _Cambridge,_ and

I had been meditating that he would probably have divided your

attention between Harvard and the Boston Public Library,--now the

richest in the country, at first founded by the gifts of Joshua

Bates (of London), and since enriched by the city and private

donors, Theodore Parker among them. But after conversation with

two or three friends, I had decided that Harvard College was the

right beneficiary, as being the mother real or adoptive of a

great number of your lovers and readers in America, and because a

College is a seat of sentiment and cosmical relations. The

Library is outgrown by other libraries in the Country, counts

only 119,000 bound volumes in 1868; the several departments of

Divinity, Law, Medicine, and Natural Science in the University

having special libraries, that together add some 40,000 more.

The College is newly active (with its new President Eliot, a

cousin of Norton's) and expansive in all directions. And the

Library will be relieved through subscriptions now being

collected among the Alumni with the special purpose of securing

to it an adequate fund for annual increase.

I shall then write to Norton at once that I concur with him in

the destination of the books to Harvard College, and approve

entirely his advices in regard to details. And so soon as you

send me the Catalogue I shall, if you permit, communicate your

design to President Eliot and the Corporation.

One thing I shall add to the Catalogue now or later (perhaps only

by bequest), your own prized gift to me, in 1848, of Wood's

_Athenae Oxonienses,_ which I have lately had rebound, and in

which every pen and pencil mark of yours is notable.

The stately books of the New Edition have duly come from the

unforgetting friend. I have _Sartor, Schiller, French

Revolution,_ 3 vols., _Miscellanies,_ Numbers 1, 2, 3, 4, 5,--ten

volumes in all, excellently printed and dressed, and full of

memories and electricity.

I have much to say, but of things not opportune at this moment,

and in spite of my long contumacy dare believe that I shall

quickly write again my proper letter to my friend, whose every

word I watchfully read and remember.

The Correspondence of Thomas Carlyle and Ralph Waldo Emerson, 1834-1872, Vol II. · 第 216 / 245 题