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"The Correspondence of Thomas Carlyle and Ralph Waldo Emerson, 1834-1872, Vol II."

My notion is, he will
succeed; in which case, it will be a great possession to me for
the rest of my life. Alas, this is not the kind of _silence_ I
could have coveted, and could once get,--with green fields and
clear skies to accompany it! But one must take such as can be
had,--and thank the gods. Even so, my friend. In the course of
about a year of that garret sanctuary, I hope to have swept away
much litter from my existence: in fact I am already, by dint of
mere obstinate quiescence in such circumstances as there are,
intrinsically growing fairly sounder in nerves. What a business
a poor human being has with those nerves of his, with that crazy
clay tabernacle of his! Enough, enough; there will be all
Eternity to rest in, as Arnauld said: "Why in such a fuss,
little sir?"
You "apologize" for sending people to me: O you of little faith!
Never dream of such a thing nay, whom _did_ you send? The
Cincinnati Lecturer* I had provided for with Owen; they would
have been glad to hear him, on the Cedar forests, on the pigs
making rattlesnakes into bacon, and the general adipocere
question, under any form, at the Albemarle Street rooms;--and he
never came to hand.


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