Carlyle to Emerson
Chelsea, 29 August, 1845
Dear Emerson,--Your Letter, which had been very long expected,
has been in my hand above a month now; and still no answer sent
to it. I thought of answering straightway; but the day went
by, days went by;--and at length I decided to wait till my
insupportable Burden (the "Stupidity of Two Centuries" as I call
it, which is a heavy load for one man!) were rolled off my
shoulders, and I could resume the habit of writing Letters, which
has almost left me for many months. By the unspeakable blessing
of Heaven that consummation has now arrived, about four days ago
I wrote my last word on _Cromwell's Letters and Speeches;_ and
one of the earliest uses I make of my recovered freedom is to
salute you again. The Book is nearly printed: two big volumes;
about a half of it, I think, my own; the real utterances of the
man Oliver Cromwell once more legible to earnest men. Legible
really to an unexpected extent: for the Book took quite an
unexpected figure in my hands; and is now a kind of Life of
Oliver, the best that circumstances would permit me to do:--
whether either I or England shall be, in my time, fit for a
better, remains submitted to the Destinies at present.
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