You are to know that in these days I lay out a patch of orchard near my house, very much to the improvement, as all the household affirm, of our homestead.  Though I have little skill in these things, and must borrow that of my neighbors, yet the works of the garden and orchard at this season are fascinating, and will eat up days and weeks, and a brave scholar should shun it like gambling, and take refuge in cities and hotels from these pernicious enchantments.  For the present, I stay in the new orchard.

Duyckinck, a literary man in New York, who advises Wiley and Putnam in their publishing enterprises, wrote me lately, that they had $600 for you, from Cromwell. So may it be.

Yours,
     R.W.E.

CXXI.  Carlyle to Emerson

Chelsea, 18 May, 1847

Dear Emerson,—....My time is nearly up today; but I write a word to acknowledge your last Letter (30 April), and various other things.  For example, you must tell Mr. Thoreau (is that the exact name? for I have lent away the printed pages) that his Philadelphia Magazine with the Lecture* in two pieces was faithfully delivered here, about a fortnight ago; and carefully read, as beseemed, with due entertainment and recognition.  A vigorous Mr. Thoreau,—­who has formed himself a good deal upon one Emerson, but does not want abundant fire and stamina of his own;—­recognizes us, and various other things, in a most admiring great-hearted manner; for which, as for part of the confused voice from the jury bog (not yet summed into a verdict, nor likely to be summed till Doomsday, nor needful to sum), the poor prisoner at the bar may justly express himself thankful!  In plain prose, I like Mr. Thoreau very well; and hope yet to hear good and better news of him:—­only let him not “turn to foolishness”; which seems to me to be terribly easy, at present, both in New England and Old!  May the Lord deliver us all from Cant; may the Lord, whatever else he do or forbear, teach us to look Facts honestly in the face, and to beware (with a kind of shudder) of smearing them over with our despicable and damnable palaver, into irrecognizability, and so falsifying the Lord’s own Gospels to his unhappy blockheads of children, all staggering down to Gehenna and the everlasting Swine’s-trough for want of Gospels.—­O Heaven, it is the most accursed sin of man; and done everywhere, at present, on the streets and high places, at noonday!  Very seriously I say, and pray as my chief orison, May the Lord deliver us from it.—­

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* On Carlyle, published in Graham’s Magazine in March and
April, 1847.
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About a week ago there came your neighbor Hoar; a solid, sensible, effectual-looking man, of whom I hope to see much more.  So soon as possible I got him under way for Oxford, where I suppose he was, last week;—­both Universities was