the clock, but had no other measure. Here in this house we
breakfast about nine; Carlyle is very apt, his wife says, to sleep
till ten or eleven, if he has no company. An immense talker he is, and
altogether as extraordinary in his conversation as in his writing--I
think even more so. You will never discover his real vigor and range,
or how much more he might do than he has ever done, without seeing
him. I find my few hours' discourse with him in Scotland, long since,
gave me not enough knowledge of him, and I have now at last been taken
by surprise.... Carlyle and his wife live on beautiful terms. Nothing
could be more engaging than their ways, and in her book-case all his
books are inscribed to her, as they came, from year to year, each with
some significant lines."

In another place he writes:

"I had good talk with Carlyle last night. He says over and over for
years, the same thing. Yet his guiding genius is his moral sense, his
perception of the sole importance of truth and justice, and he too
says that there is properly no religion in England. He is quite
contemptuous about _Kunst_ (art) also, in Germans, or English, or
Americans.... His sneers and scoffs are thrown in every direction. He
breaks every sentence with a scoffing laugh--'windbag,' 'monkey,'
'donkey,' 'bladder;' and let him describe whom he will, it is always
'poor fellow.' I said 'What a fine fellow you are to bespatter the
whole world with this oil of vitriol!' 'No man,' he replied, 'speaks
truth to me.' I said, 'See what a crowd of friends listen to and
admire you.' 'Yes, they come to hear me, and they read what I write;
but not one of them has the smallest intention of doing these
things.'"

While Emerson was in London he was elected to membership in the
Athenaeum Club, during his stay in England. Here he had the opportunity
of meeting many famous men. He writes:

"Milnes and other good men are always to be found there. Milnes is the
most good-natured man in England, made of sugar; he is everywhere and
knows everything. He told of Landor that one day, in a towering
passion, he threw his cook out of the window, and then presently
exclaimed, 'Good God, I never thought of those violets!' The last time
he saw Landor he found him expatiating on our custom of eating in
company, which he esteems very barbarous. He eats alone, with
half-closed windows, because the light interferes with the taste. He
has lately heard of some tribe in Crim Tartary who h