is worth knowing; a genuine bit of metal,
too thin and ringing for my tastes (hammered, in fact, upon the
Yankee anvils), but recognizably of steel and with a keen fire-
edge. Pray signify to him that he has done a thing agreeable to
me, and that it will be pleasant if I find it will not hurt
_him._ Profit to me out of it, except to keep his own soul clear
and sound (to his own sense, as it always will be to mine), is
perfectly indifferent; and on the whole I thank him heartily for
showing me a chivalrous human brother, instead of the usual
vulturous, malodorous, and much avoidable phenomenon, in
Transatlantic Bibliopoly! This is accurately true; and so far
as his publisher and he can extract encouragement from this, in
the face of vested interests which I cannot judge of, it is
theirs without reserve....

Adieu, my friend; I have not written so much in the Letter way,
not, I think, since you last heard of me. In my despair it often
seems as if I should never write more; but be sunk here, and
perish miserably in the most undoable, least worthy, most
disgusting and heart breaking of all the labors I ever had. But
perhaps also not, not quite. In which case--

Yours ever truly at any rate,
T. Carlyle

No time to re-read. I suppose you can decipher.

CLXVII. Carlyle to Emerson

Chelsea, 29 January, 1861

Dear Emerson,--The sight of my hand-writing will, I know, be
welcome again. Though I literally do not write the smallest Note
once in a month, or converse with anything but Prussian
Nightmares of a hideous [nature], and with my Horse (who is human
in comparison), and with my poor Wife (who is altogether human,
and heroically cheerful to me, in her poor weak state),--I must
use the five minutes, which have fallen to me today, in
acknowledgment, _du_e by all laws terrestrial and celestial, of
the last Book* that has come from you.

--------
* "The Conduct of Life."
--------

I read it a great while ago, mostly in sheets, and again read it
in the finely printed form,--I can tell you, if you do not
already guess, with a satisfaction given me by the Books of no
other living mortal. I predicted to your English Bookseller a
great sale even, reckoning it the best of all your Books. What
the sale was or is I nowhere learned; but the basis of my
prophecy remains like the rocks, and will remain. Indeed, except
from my Brother John, I have heard no criticism that had much
r