Dear Emerson,--Your Letter gave me great pleasure. A gleam of
sunshine after a long tract of lowering weather. It is not you
that are to blame for this sad gap in our correspondence; it is
I, or rather it is my misfortunes, and miserable inabilities,
broken resolutions, etc., etc. The truth is, the winter here was
very unfriendly to me; broke ruinously into my sleep; and
through that into every other department of my businesses,
spiritual and temporal; so that from about New-Year's Day last I
have been, in a manner, good for nothing,--nor am yet, though I
do again feel as if the beautiful Summer weather might perhaps do
something for me. This it was that choked every enterprise; and
postponed your Letter, week after week, through so many months.
Let us not speak of it farther!
Note, meanwhile, I have no disease about me; nothing but the
gradual decay of any poor digestive faculty I latterly had,--or
indeed ever had since I was three and twenty years of age. Let
us be quiet with it; accept it as a mode of exit, of which
always there must be _some_ mode.
I have got done with all my press-correctings, editionings, and
paltry bother of that kind: Vol. 30 will embark for you about
the middle of this month; there are then to follow ("uniform,"
as the printers call it, though in smaller type) a little volume
called _General Index;_ and three more volumes of _Translations
from the German;_ after which we two will reckon and count; and
if there is any _lacuna_ on the Concord shelf, at once make it
good. Enough, enough on that score.
The Hotten who has got hold of you here is a dirty little pirate,
who snatches at everybody grown fat enough to yield him a bite
(paltry, unhanged creature); so that in fact he is a symbol to
you of your visible rise in the world here; and, with Conway's
vigilance to help, will do you good and not evil. Glad am I, in
any case, to see so much new spiritual produce still ripening
around you; and you ought to be glad, too. Pray Heaven you may
long _keep your right hand_ steady: you, too, I can perceive,
will never, any more than myself, learn to "write by dictation"
in a manner that will be supportable to you. I rejoice, also, to
hear of such a magnificent adventure as that you are now upon.
Climbing the backbone of America; looking into the Pacific Ocean
too, and the gigantic wonders going on there. I fear you won't
see Brigham Young, however? He also to me is one of the products
out there;--and indeed I may confess to you that the doings in
that region are not only of a big character, but of a great;--and
that in my occasional explosions against "Anarchy," and my
inextinguishable hatred of _it,_ I privately whisper to myself,
"Could any Friedrich Wilhelm, now, or Friedrich, or most perfect
Governor you could hope to realize, guide forward what is
America's essential task at present faster or more completely
than 'anarchic America' herself is now doing?" _Such_ "Anarchy"
has a great deal to say for itself,--(would to Heaven ours of
England had as much!)--and points towards grand _anti_-Anarchies
in the future; in fact, I can already discern in it huge
quantities of Anti-Anarchy in the "impalpable-powder" condition;
and hope, with the aid of centuries, immense things from it, in
my private mind!
Good Mrs. --- has never yet made her appearance; but shall be
welcome whenever she does.
Did you ever hear the name of an aged, or elderly, fantastic
fellow-citizen of yours, called J. Lee Bliss, who designates
himself O.F. and A.K., i.e. "Old Fogey" and "Amiable Kuss"? He
sent me, the other night, a wonderful miscellany of symbolical
shreds and patches; which considerably amused me; and withal
indicated good-will on the man's part; who is not without humor,
in sight, and serious intention or disposition. If you ever did
hear of him, say a word on the subject next time you write.
And above all things _write._ The instant you get home from
California, or see this, let me hear from you what your
adventures have been and what the next are to be. Adieu,
dear Emerson.
Yours ever affectionately,
T. Carlyle
Mrs. --- sends a note from Piccadilly this new morning (June 5th);
_call_ to be made there today by Niece Mary, card left, etc.,
etc. Promises to be an agreeable Lady.
Did you ever hear of such a thing as this suicidal Finis of the
French "Copper Captaincy"; gratuitous Attack on Germany, and
ditto Blowing-up of Paris by its own hand! An event with
meanings unspeakable,--deep as the. _Abyss._--
If you ever write to C. Norton in Italy, send him my kind
remembrances.
--T. C. (with about the velocity of Engraving--on lead!)*
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* The letter was dictated, but the postscript, from the first
signature, was written in a tremulous hand by Carlyle himself.
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