Yours ever,
       T. Carlyle

LXIV.  Carlyle to Emerson

Chelsea, London, 21 May, 1841

My Dear Emerson,—­About a week ago I wrote to you, after too long a silence.  Since that there has another Letter come, with a Draft of L100 in it, and other comfortable items not pecuniary; a line in acknowledgment of the money is again very clearly among my duties.  Yesterday, on my first expedition up to Town, I gave the Paper to Fraser; who is to present the result to me in the shape of cash tomorrow.  Thanks, and again thanks.  This L100, I think, nearly clears off for me the outlay of the second French Revolution; an ill-printed, ill-conditioned publication, the prime cost of which, once all lying saved from the Atlantic whirlpools and hard and fast in my own hand, it was not perhaps well done to venture thitherward again.  To the new trouble of my friends withal!  We will now let the rest of the game play itself out as it can; and my friends, and my one friend, must not take more trouble than their own kind feelings towards me will reward.

The Books, the Dial No. 4, and Appleton’s pirated Lectures, are still expected from Green.  In a day or two he will send them:  if not, we will jog him into wakefulness, and remind him of the Parcels Delivery Company, which carries luggage of all kinds, like mere letters, many times a day, over all corners of our Babylon.  In this, in the universal British Penny Post, and a thing or two of that sort, men begin to take advantage of their crowded ever-whirling condition in these days, which brings such enormous disadvantages along with it unsought for.—­ Bibliopolist Appleton does not seem to be a “Hero,”—­except after his own fashion.  He is one of those of whom the Scotch say, “Thou wouldst do little for God if the Devil were dead!” The Devil is unhappily dead, in that international bibliopolic province, and little hope of his reviving for some time; whereupon this is what Squire Appleton does.  My respects to him even in the Bedouin department, I like to see a complete man, a clear decisive Bedouin.

For the rest, there is one man who ought to be apprised that I can now stand robbery a little better; that I am no longer so very poor as I once was.  In Fraser himself there do now lie vestiges of money!  I feel it a great relief to see, for a year or two at least, the despicable bugbear of Beggary driven out of my sight; for which small mercy, at any rate, be the Heavens thanked.  Fraser himself, for these two editions, One thousand copies each, of the Lectures and Sartor, pays me down on the nail L150; consider that miracle!  Of the other Books which he is selling on a joint-stock basis, the poor man likewise promises something, though as yet, ever since New-Year’s-day, I cannot learn what, owing to a grievous sickness of his,—­for