Still better,—­though poor Fraser, alas, is dead, (poor Fraser!), and no help could come from industries of the Bookshop, and Books indeed it seems were never selling worse than of late months,—­I learn that the “sale of the Essays goes very steadily forward,” and will wind itself handsomely up in due time, we may believe!  So Emerson henceforth has a real Public in Old England as well as New.  And finally, my Friend, do not disturb yourself about turning better, &c., &c.; write as it is given you, and not till it be given you, and never mind it a whit.

The new Adelphi piece seems to me, as a piece of Composition, the best written of them all.  People cry over it:  “Whitherward?  What, What?” In fact, I do again desiderate some concretion of these beautiful abstracta. It seems to me they will never be right otherwise; that otherwise they are but as prophecies yet, not fulfilments.

The Dial too, it is all spirit-like, aeriform, aurora-borealis like.  Will no Angel body himself out of that; no stalwart Yankee man, with color in the cheeks of him, and a coat on his back!  These things I say: and yet, very true, you alone can decide what practical meaning is in them.  Write you always as it is given you,_ be it in the solid, in the aeriform, or whatsoever way.  There is no other rule given among men.—­I have sent the criticism on Landor* to an Editorial Friend of L.’s, by whom I expect it will be put into the Newspapers here, for the benefit of Walter Savage; he is not often so well praised among us, and deserves a little good praise.

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* From the Dial for October, 1841.
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You propose again to send me Moneys,—­surprising man!  I am glad also to hear that that beggarly misprinted French Revolution is nearly out among you.  I only hope farther your Booksellers will have an eye on that rascal Appleton, and not let him reprint and deface, if more copies of the Book turn out to be wanted.  Adieu, dear Emerson!  Good speed to you at Boston, and in all true things.  I hope to write soon again.

Yours ever,
       T. Carlyle

LXXII.  Carlyle to Emerson

Chelsea, 6 December, 1841

Dear Emerson,—­Though I wrote to you very lately, and am in great haste today, I must lose no time in announcing that the Letter with the L40 draught came to hand some mornings ago; and now, this same morning, a second Letter round by Dumfriesshire, which had been sent as a duplicate, or substitute in case of accident, for the former.  It is all right, my friend ——­’s paper has got itself changed into forty gold sovereigns, and lies here waiting use; thanks, many thanks!  Sums of that kind come always upon me like manna out of the sky; surely they, more emphatically than any others, are the gift of Heaven.  Let us receive,