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

I follow, I
find, the fortunes of my Country, in my privatest ways. An
American is pioneer and man of all work, and reads up his
newspaper on Saturday night, as farmers and foresters do. We
admire the [Greek], and mean to give our boys the grand habit;
but we only sketch what they may do. No leisure except for the
strong, the nimble have none.--I ought to tell you what I do, or
I ought to have to tell you what I have done. But what can I?
the same concession to the levity of the times, the noise of
America comes again. I have even run on wrong topics for my
parsimonious Muse, and waste my time from my true studies.
England I see as a roaring volcano of Fate, which threatens to
roast or smother the poor literary Plinys that come too near for
mere purpose of reporting.
I have even fancied you did me a harm by the valued gift of
Antony Wood;--which, and the like of which, I take a lotophagous
pleasure in eating. Yet this is measuring after appearance,
measuring on hours and days; the true measure is quite other,
for life takes its color and quality not from the days, but the
dawns.


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