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* Concerning this letter Emerson wrote in his Diary:   “January 7,
1837.   Received day before yesterday a letter from Thomas
Carlyle, dated 5 November;—­as ever, a cordial influence.   Strong
he is, upright, noble, and sweet, and makes good how much of our
human nature.   Quite in consonance with my delight in his
eloquent letters I read in Bacon this afternoon this sentence (of
Letters):   ’And such as are written from wise men are of all the
words of men, in my judgment, the best;  for they are more
natural than orations, public speeches, and more advised than
conferences or present speeches.’”
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XIV.  Carlyle to Emerson

5 Cheyne Row, Chelsea, London, 13 February, 1837

My Dear Emerson,—­You had promise of a letter to be despatched you about New-year’s-day; which promise I was myself in a condition to fulfil at the time set, but delayed it, owing to delays of printers and certain “Articles” that were to go with it.  Six weeks have not yet entirely brought up these laggard animals:  however, I will delay no longer for them.  Nay, it seems the Articles, were they never so ready, cannot go with the Letter; but must fare round by Liverpool or Portsmouth, in a separate conveyance.  We will leave them to the bounty of Time.

Your little Book and the Copy of Teufelsdrockh came safely; soon after I had written.  The Teufelsdrockh I instantaneously despatched to Hamburg, to a Scottish merchant there, to whom there is an allusion in the Book; who used to be my Speditor (one of the politest extant though totally a stranger) in my missions and packages to and from Weimar.* The other, former Copy, more specially yours, had already been, as I think I told you, delivered out of durance; and got itself placed in the bookshelf, as the Teufelsdrockh.  George Ripley tells me you are printing another edition; much good may it do you!  There is now also a kind of whisper and whimper rising here about printing one.  I said to myself once, when Bookseller Fraser shrieked so loud at a certain message you sent him:  “Perhaps after all they will print this poor rag of a thing into a Book, after I am dead it may be,—­if so seem good to them. Either way!” As it is, we leave the poor orphan to its destiny, all the more cheerfully.  Ripley says farther he has sent me a critique of it by a better hand than the North American: I expect it, but have not got it Yet.** The North American seems to say that he too sent me one.  It never came to hand, nor any hint of it,—­except I think once before through you.  It was not at all an unfriendly review; but had an opacity, of matter-of-fact in it that filled one with amazement.  Since the Irish Bishop who said there were some things in Gulliver on which he for one would keep his belief suspended, nothing equal to it, on that side, has come athwart me.  However, he has made out that Teufelsdrockh is, in all human probability, a fictitious character; which is always something, for an Inquirer into Truth.—­Will you, finally, thank Friend Ripley in my name, till I have time to write to him and thank him.