ce homeward to-morrow, and this
summer I mean to resume my endeavor to make some presentable book
of Essays out of my mountain of manuscript, were it only for the
sake of clearance. I left my wife, and boy, and girl,--the
softest, gracefulest little maiden alive, creeping like a turtle
with head erect all about the house,--well at home a week ago.
The boy has two deep blue wells for eyes, into which I gladly
peer when I am tired. Ellen, they say, has no such depth of orb,
but I believe I love her better than ever I did the boy. I
brought my mother with me here to spend the summer with William
Emerson and his wife and ruddy boy of four years. All these
persons love and honour you in proportion to their knowledge
and years.

My letter will find you, I suppose, meditating new lectures for
your London disciples. May love and truth inspire them! I can
see easily that my predictions are coming to pass, and that.
having waited until your Fame wag in the floodtide, we shall not
now see you at all on western shores. Our saintly Dr. T---, I am
told, had a letter within a year from Lord Byron's daughter,
_informing_ the good man of the appearance of a certain wonderful
genius in London named Thomas Carlyle, and all his astonishing
workings on her own and her friends' brains, and him the very
monster whom the Doctor had been honoring with his best dread and
consternation these five years. But do come in one of Mr.
Cunard's ships as soon as the booksellers have made you rich. If
they fail to do so, come and read lectures which the Yankees will
pay for. Give my love and hope and perpetual remembrance to your
wife, and my wife's also, who bears her in her kindest heart, and
who resolves every now and then to write to her, that she may
thank her for the beautiful Guido.

You told me to send you no more accounts. But I certainly shall,
as our financial relations are grown more complex, and I wish at
least to relieve myself of this unwonted burden of booksellers'
accounts and long delays, by sharing them. I have had one of
their estimates by me a year, waiting to send. Farewell.

--R.W.E.

LII. Carlyle to Emerson

Chelsea, London, 1 April, 1840

My Dear Emerson,--A Letter has been due to you from me, if not by
palpable law of reciprocity, yet by other law and right, for some
week or two. I meant to write, so soon as Fraser and I had got a
settlement effected. The traveling