The Correspondence of Thomas Carlyle and Ralph Waldo Emerson, 1834-1872, Vol II. CLXXX. Carlyle to Emerson
by Thomas Carlyle
Chelsea, 24 February, 1870
Dear Emerson,--At length I have got home from those sumptuous
tumults ("Melchet Court" is the Dowager Lady Ashburton's House,
whose late Husband, an estimable friend of mine, and half
American, you may remember here); and I devote to ending of our
small Harvard Business, small enough, but true and kindly,--the
first quiet hour I have.
Your Copy of the Catalogue, which accompanies by Book-Post of
today, is the correctest I could manage to get done; all the
Books mentioned in it I believe to be now here (and indeed,
except five or six tiny articles, have seen them all, in one
or other of the three rooms where my Books now stand, and where I
believe the insignificant trifle of "tinies" to be): all these I
can expect will be punctually attended to when the time comes,
and proceeded with according to Norton's scheme and yours;--and
if any more "tinies," which I could not even remember, should
turn up (which I hardly think there will), these also will
class themselves (as Cromwelliana or Fredericana), and be
faith fully sent on with the others. For benefit of my
Survivors and Representatives here, I retain an exact
Copy of the Catalogue now put into your keeping; so that
everything may fall out square between them and you when the
Time shall arrive.
I mean to conform in every particular to the plan sketched out by
Norton and you,--unless, in your next Letter, you have something
other or farther to advise:--and so soon as I hear from you that
Harvard accepts my poor widow's mite of a Bequest, I will
proceed to put it down in due form, and so finish this small
matter, which for long years has hovered in my thoughts as a
thing I should like to do. And so enough for this time.
I meant to write a longish Letter, touching on many other
points,--though you see I am reduced to pencil, and "write"
with such difficulty (never yet could learn to "dictate," though
my little Niece here is promptitude itself, and is so swift and
legible,--useful here as a cheerful rushlight in this now sombre
element, sombre, sad, but also beautiful and tenderly solemn more
and more, in which she bears me company, good little "Mary"!).
But, in bar of all such purposes, Publisher Chapman has come in,
with Cromwell Engravings and their hindrances, with money
accounts, &c., &c.; and has not even left me a moment of time,
were nothing else needed!
Vol. XIV. (Cromwell, I.) ought to be at Concord about as soon
as this. In our Newspapers I notice your Book announced, "half
of the Essays new,"--which I hope to get quam primum, and
illuminate some evenings with,--so as nothing else can, in my
present common mood.
Adieu, dear old Friend. I am and remain yours always,
