On the whole, one's
blessedness is to do as Oliver: Work while the sun is up; work
_well_ as if Eternities depended on it; and then sleep,--if
under the guano-mountains of Human Stupor, if handsomely
_forgotten_ all at once, that latter is the handsome thing! I
have often thought what W. Shakespeare would say, were he to sit
one night in a "Shakespeare Society," and listen to the empty
twaddle and other long-eared melody about him there!--Adieu, my
Friend. I fear I have forgotten many things: at all events, I
have forgotten the inexorable flight of the minutes, which are
numbered out to me at present.
Ever yours,
T. Carlyle
I think I recognize the Inspector of Wild-beasts, in the
little Boston Newspaper you send!* A small hatchet-faced, gray-
eyed, good-humored Inspector, who came with a Translated
Lafontaine; and took his survey not without satisfaction?
Comfortable too how rapidly he fathomed the animal, having just
poked him up a little. _Ach Gott!_ Man is forever interesting
to men;--and all men, even Hatchet-faces, are globular and complete!
---------
* This probably refers to a letter of Mr.
Pages:
127
128
129
130
131
132
133
134
135
136
137
138
139
140
141
142
143
144
145
146
147
148
149
150
151