indorsing all your proposals; and signifying that the
matter should be authentically completed the instant I should
hear from you again. I may add now that the thing is essentially
completed,--all signed and put on paper, or all but a word
or two, which, for form's sake, waits the actual arrival of
your Letter.

I have never yet received your Book;* and, if it linger only a
few days more, mean to provide myself with a copy such as the
Sampson and Low people have on sale everywhere.

I had from Norton, the other day, a very kind and friendly Letter.

This is all of essential that I had to say. I write in utmost
haste. But am always, dear Emerson,

Yours sincerely,
T. Carlyle

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* "Society and Solitude."
--------

CLXXXIII. Carlyle to Emerson

Chelsea, 6 April, 1870

Dear Emerson,--The day before yesterday your welcome Letter came
to hand, with the welcome news in it; yesterday I put into my
poor Document here the few words still needed; locked everything
into its still repository (your Letter, President Eliot's,
Norton's, &c., &c.); and walked out into the sunshine, piously
thankful that a poor little whim, which had long lain fondly in
my heart, had realized itself with an emphasis I could never
hope, and was become (thanks to generous enthusiasm on New
England's part) a beautiful little fact, lying done there, so far
as I had to do with it. Truly your account of matters threw a
glow of _life_ into my thoughts which is very rare there now;
altogether a gratifying little Transaction to me,--and I must add
a surprising, for the enthusiasm of good-will is evidently great,
and the occasion is almost infinitesimally small! Well, well;
it is all finished off and completed,--(you can tell Mr. Eliot,
with many thanks from me, that I did introduce the proper style,
"President and Fellows," &c., and have forgotten nothing of what
he said, or of what he _did_);--and so we will say only, _Faustum
sit,_ as our last word on the subject;--and to me it will be, for
some days yet, under these vernal skies, something that is itself
connected with THE SPRING in a still higher sense; a little
white and red-lipped bit of _Daisy_ pure and poor, scattered into
TIME's Seedfield, and struggling above ground there, uttering
_its_ bit of prophecy withal, among the ox-hoofs and big jungles
that are everywhere about and not prophetic of much!--

One thing only I regret, that you _have_ spoken of