y "to some cottage by the
sea-shore"; far enough from all the mad and mad making things
that dance round me here, which I shall then look on only as a
theatrical phantasmagory, with an eye only to the _meaning_ that
lies hidden in it. You, friend Emerson, are to be a Farmer, you
say, and dig Earth for your living? Well; I envy you that as
much as any other of your blessednesses. Meanwhile, I sit shrunk
together here in a small _dressing-closet,_ aloft in the back
part of the house, excluding all cackle and cockneys; and,
looking out over the similitude of a May grove (with little brick
in it, and only the minarets of Westminster and gilt cross of St.
Paul's visible in the distance, and the enormous roar of London
softened into an enormous hum), endeavor to await what will
betide. I am busy with Luther in one Marheinecke's very long-
winded Book. I think of innumerable things; steal out westward
at sunset among the Kensington lanes; would this _May_ weather
last, I might be as well here as in any attainable place. But
June comes; the rabid dogs get muzzles; all is brown-parched,
dusty, suffocating, desperate, and I shall have to run! Enough
of all that. On my paper there comes, or promises to come,
as yet simply nothing at all. Patience;--and yet who can
be patient?

Had you the happiness to see yourself not long ago, in _Fraser's
Magazine,_ classed _nominatim_ by an emphatic earnest man, not
without a kind of splay-footed strength and sincerity,--among the
chief Heresiarchs of the--world? Perfectly right. Fraser was
very anxious to know what I thought of the Paper,--"by an
entirely unknown man in the country." I counseled "that there
was something in him, which he ought to improve by holding his
peace for the next five years."

Adieu, dear Emerson; there is not a scrap more of Paper. All
copies of your _Essays_ are out at use; with what result we
shall perhaps see. As for me I love the Book and man, and their
noble rustic herohood and manhood:--one voice as of a living man
amid such jabberings of galvanized corpses: _Ach Gott!_

Yours evermore,
T. Carlyle

LXV. Emerson to Carlyle

Concord, 80 May, 1841

My Dear Friend,--In my letter written to you on the 1st of May
(enclosing a bill of exchange of L100 sterling, which, I hope,
arrived safely) I believe I promised to send you by the next
steamer an account for April. But the false tardy Munroe & Co.
did not send it