utiful square _bag of duck-shot_ held together by canvas! I
will try them again, with the Book deliberately before me.--There
are also one or two utterances about "Jesus," "immortality," and
so forth, which will produce wide-eyes here and there. I do not
say it was wrong to utter them; a man obeys his own Daemon in
these cases as his supreme law. I dare say you are a little
bored occasionally with "Jesus," &c.,--as I confess I myself am,
when I discern what a beggarly Twaddle they have made of all
that, what a greasy Cataplasm to lay to their own poltrooneries;-
-and an impatient person may exclaim with Voltaire, in serious
moments: "_Au nom de Dieu, ne me parlez plus de cet homme-la!_
I have had enough of him;--I tell you I am alive too!"

Well, I have scribbled at a great rate; regardless of Time's
flight!--My Wife thanks many times for M. Fuller's Book. I sent
by Mr. James a small Packet of _your_ letters--which will make
you sad to look at them! Adieu, dear friend.

--T. Carlyle

XCVII. Emerson to Carlyle

Concord, 31 December, 1844

My Dear Friend,--I have long owed you a letter and have much to
acknowledge. Your two letters containing tidings, the first of
the mortal illness, and the second of the death of Sterling, I
had no heart to answer. I had nothing to say. Alas! as in so
many instances heretofore, I knew not what to think. Life is
somewhat customary and usual; and death is the unusual and
astonishing; it kills in so far the survivor also, when it
ravishes from him friendship and the most noble and admirable
qualities. That which we call faith seems somewhat stoical and
selfish, if we use it as a retreat from the pangs this ravishment
inflicts. I had never seen him, but I held him fast; now I see
him not, but I can no longer hold him. Who can say what he yet
is and will be to me? The most just and generous can best divine
that. I have written in vain to James to visit me, or to send me
tidings. He sent me, without any note, the parcel you confided
to him, and has gone to Albany, or I know not whither.

I have your notes of the progress of my London printing, and, at
last, the book itself. It was thoughtless in me to ask your
attention to the book at all in the proof state; the printer
might have been fully trusted with corrected printed pages before
him. Nor should Chapman have taxed you for an advertisement;
only, I doubt not he