The lucid intervals are like drowning men's moments,
equivalent to the foregoing years. Besides, Nature uses us. We
live but little for ourselves, a good deal for our children, and
strangers. Each man is one more lump of clay to hold the world
together. It is in the power of the Spirit meantime to make him
rich reprisals,--which he confides will somewhere be done.--Ah,
my friend, you have better things to send me word of, than
these musings of indolence. Is Frederic recreated? Is Frederic
the Great?
Forget my short-comings and write to me. Miss Bacon sends me
word, again and again, of your goodness. Against hope and sight
she must be making a remarkable book. I have a letter from her,
a few days ago, written in perfect assurance of success! Kindest
remembrances to your wife and to your brother.
Yours faithfully,
R.W. Emerson
CLVII. Carlyle to Emerson
Chelsea, 18 May, 1855
Dear Emerson,--Last Sunday, Clough was here; and we were
speaking about you, (much to your discredit, you need not doubt,)
and how stingy in the way of Letters you were grown; when, next
morning, your Letter itself made its appearance.
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