. . . I assure you I am deeply obliged to you for the great trouble you
have taken, and the kindness you have shewn about the portrait. In spite
of all our objections (yours amongst the number) it is very like, and
perhaps only misses of being quite like by that much more than
hairbreadth difference, which one would be foolish to expect to see
adequated. Perhaps those painters are right who set out with rather
idealising the likeness of those we love; for we do so ourselves probably
when we look at them. And as art must miss the last delicacy of nature,
it may be well to lean toward a better than our eyes can affirm.
This is all wrong. Truth is the ticket; but those who like strongly, in
this as in other cases, love to be a little blind, or to see too much.
One fancies that no face can be too delicate and handsome to be the
depository of a noble spirit: and if we are not as good physiognomists as
we are metaphysicians (that is, intimate with any one particular mind)
our outward eyes will very likely be at variance with our inward, or
rather be influenced by them. Very instructive all this!
I wish you would come to me to-night for an hour at ten: I don't know if
any one else will be here.
_To T. Carlyle_.
ALDERMAN BROWNE'S, BEDFORD.
[20 _Septr_. 1847.]