now, four
days ago, perceiving well that I was like a man swimming in an
element that grew ever rarer, till at last it became vacuum
(think of that!) I with a new effort of self-denial sealed up
all the paper fragments, and said to myself: In this mood thou
makest no way, writest _nothing_ that requires not to be erased
again; lay it by for one complete week! And so it lies, under
lock and key. I have digested the whole misery; I say, if thou
canst _never_ write this thing, why then never do write it:
God's Universe will go along _better_--without it. My Belief
in a special Providence grows yearly stronger, unsubduable,
impregnable: however, you see all the mad increase of entanglement
I have got to strive with, and will pity me in it. Bodily
exhaustion (and "Diana in the shape of bile")* I will at least
try to exclude from the controversy. By God's blessing, perhaps
the Book shall yet be written; but I find it will not do,
by sheer direct force; only by gentler side-methods. I have
much else to write too: I feel often as if with one year of
health and peace I could write something considerable;--the image
of which sails dim and great through my head. Which year of
health and peace, God, if He see meet, will give me yet; or
withhold from me, as shall be for the best.

---------
* This allusion to Diana as an obstruction was a favorite one
with Carlyle. "Sir Hudibras, according to Butler, was about to do
a dreadful homicide,--an all-important catastrophe,--and had
drawn his pistol with that full intent, and would decidedly have
done it, had not, says Butler, 'Diana in the shape of rust'
imperatively intervened. A miracle she has occasionally wrought
upon me in other shapes." So wrote Carlyle in a letter in 1874.
---------

I have dwelt and swum now for about a year in this World-Maelstrom
of London; with much pain, which however has given me many
thoughts, more than a counterbalance for that. Hitherto there
is no outlook, but confusion, darkness, innumerable things
against which a man must "set his face like a flint." Madness
rules the world, as it has generally done: one cannot,
unhappily, without loss, say to it, Rule then; and yet must say
it.--However, in two months more I expect my good Brother from
Italy (a brave fellow, who is a great comfort to me); we are
then for Scotland to gather a little health, to consider
ourselves a little. I must have this Book done before anything
else wi