ons to me and to all
whom he has enlightened. He knows not how deeply I should grieve
at his fall, if, in that exposed England where genius always
hears the Devil's whisper, "All these kingdoms will I give thee,"
his virtue also should be an initial growth put off with age.
When therefore I found myself in Europe, I went to your house
only to say, "Faint not,--the word you utter is heard, though in
the ends of the earth and by humblest men; it works, prevails."
Drawn by strong regard to one of my teachers I went to see his
person, and as he might say his environment at Craigenputtock.
Yet it was to fulfil my duty, finish my mission, not with much
hope of gratifying him,--in the spirit of "If I love you, what is
that to you?" Well, it happened to me that I was delighted with
my visit, justified to myself in my respect, and many a time upon
the sea in my homeward voyage I remembered with joy the favored
condition of my lonely philosopher, his happiest wedlock, his
fortunate temper, his steadfast simplicity, his all means of
happiness;--not that I had the remotest hope that he should so
far depart from his theories as to expect happiness. On my
arrival at home I rehearsed to several attentive ears what I had
seen and heard, and they with joy received it.

In Liverpool I wrote to Mr. Fraser to send me Magazine, and I
have now received four numbers of the _Sartor Resartus,_ for
whose light thanks evermore. I am glad that one living scholar
is self-centred, and will be true to himself though none ever
were before; who, as Montaigne says, "puts his ear close by
himself, and holds his breath and listens." And none can be
offended with the self-subsistency of one so catholic and jocund.
And 't is good to have a new eye inspect our mouldy social forms,
our politics, and schools, and religion. I say _our,_ for it
cannot have escaped you that a lecture upon these topics written
for England may be read to America. Evermore thanks for the
brave stand you have made for Spiritualism in these writings.
But has literature any parallel to the oddity of the vehicle
chosen to convey this treasure? I delight in the contents; the
form, which my defective apprehension for a joke makes me not
appreciate, I leave to your merry discretion. And yet did ever
wise and philanthropic author use so defying a diction? As if
society were not sufficiently shy of truth without providing it
beforehand with an objection to the form. Can it b