g with both hands, through each disappointment, that I might
converse with a man whose ear of faith was not stopped, and whose
argument I could not predict. May I use the word, "I thank my
God whenever I call you to remembrance."

----------
* This letter was printed in the _Athenaeum,_ London, June 24,
1882. It, as well as three others which appeared in the same
journal, is now reprinted, through the courtesy of its editor,
from the original.

** Edward Bliss Emerson, his next younger brother, "brother of
the brief but blazing star," of whom Emerson wrote _In Memoriam:_--

"There is no record left on earth,
Save in tablets of the heart,
Of the rich, inherent worth,
Of the grace that on him shone,
Of eloquent lips, of joyful wit;
He could not frame a word unfit,
An act unworthy to be done.

On his young promise Beauty smiled,
Drew his free homage unbeguiled,
And prosperous Age held out his hand,
And richly his large future planned,
And troops of friends enjoyed the tide,--
All, all was given, and only health denied."
----------

I receive with great pleasure the wonderful Professor now that
first the decent limbs of Osiris are collected.* We greet him
well to Cape Cod and Boston Bay. The rigid laws of matter
prohibit that the soul imprisoned within the strait edges of
these types should add one syllable thereto, or we had adjured
the Sage by every name of veneration to take possession by so
much as a Salve! of his Western World, but he remained inexorable
for any new communications.

-------------
* The four copies of _Sartor_ which Carlyle had sent were a
"stitched pamphlet," with a title-page bearing the words: "Sartor
Resartus: in Three Books. Reprinted for Friends, from Fraser's
Magazine. London, 1834."
-------------

I feel like congratulating you upon the cold welcome which you
say Teufelsdrockh* has met. As it is not earthly happy, it is
marked of a high sacred sort. I like it a great deal better than
ever, and before it was all published I had eaten nearly all my
words of objection. But do not think it shall lack a present
popularity. That it should not be known seems possible, for if a
memoir of Laplace had been thrown into that muck-heap of Fraser's
Magazine, who would be the wiser? But this has too much wit and
imagination not to strike a class who would not care for it as a
faithful mirror of this very Hour. But you