The Correspondence of Thomas Carlyle and Ralph Waldo Emerson, 1834-1872, Vol II. — A Reader’s Guide

Carlyle's Ferocity and Emerson's Pacific Virtues

One of the most persistent patterns in these letters is the contrast between Carlyle's self-described "ferocities" and Emerson's "pacific virtues." Carlyle writes from Chelsea, calling London a "Mother of Dead Dogs" where peace is impossible until "the battle itself end." He asks Emerson to forgive his harshness, adding, "you do not quite know what I suffer in these latitudes." Emerson, in a draft letter, notes that his American friends were "obstinate to know if the English were superior to their possessions, and if the old religion warmed their hearts." The tension is not merely personal; it reflects a broader philosophical divide between Carlyle's agonistic view of history and Emerson's more hopeful, transcendental outlook. Emerson's response to these questions, as the editor notes, would later appear in English Traits.

Practicalities and the Problem of Indian Meal

Amid discussions of Cromwell, the Dial, and pirated editions, the correspondence descends into a surprisingly detailed inquiry about the proper preparation of Indian meal. Carlyle, writing on behalf of his household, reports that potatoes have vanished and they are trying to learn the use of this American staple, but with "considerable despair." He asks three specific questions: whether a bitter aftertaste is inherent or accidental, the difference between white and yellow meal, and how to cook mush "rightly, at least without bitter." The passage reveals a domestic, almost comic side of Carlyle, and underscores the material realities that underpin the intellectual exchange. Emerson is asked to consult a "philosophic Miller" for answers, blending the high-minded with the quotidian in a way that characterizes the entire volume.

The Business of Letters: Publishing, Piracy, and Accounts

The letters are filled with the mechanics of transatlantic publishing. Emerson repeatedly sends remittances—L51, L25, L32—and Carlyle acknowledges them, often with complaints about his own publishers or the threat of pirated editions. Carlyle worries about a pirated American edition of Past and Present, while Emerson notes that the Dial does not pay expenses. They discuss the introduction of mutual acquaintances: Macready, Henry James, Ellery Channing. A recurring figure is E.P. Clark, described as "a Carlylese," who is to be asked to take charge of accounts. The correspondence thus serves as a ledger of intellectual commerce, where ideas and money cross the Atlantic with equal urgency. Emerson's faith in "Writers as a class" is tested by the practical difficulties of reaching an audience on both sides of the ocean.

Readers approaching this volume will find that the letters reward attention to their tonal shifts: Carlyle's apocalyptic gloom, Emerson's diplomatic calm, and the sudden intrusion of domestic detail. The editor's footnotes, including the fragment of Emerson's draft, offer glimpses of letters now lost. The correspondence is not a systematic treatise but a living record of two men thinking aloud, constrained by the post and by their own temperaments. To read it is to watch friendship survive disagreement, distance, and the slow passage of mail.

Flipping through the second volume of the Carlyle–Emerson letters, I lingered on their shared worry about public reception and household bread. It brought to mind the steady, older warmth of the Address, delivered in Craigie Hall, Edinburgh, February 24th, 1871 — A Reader’s Guide. A quieter echo of the same voice, perhaps, but softened, as if remembering how friendship itself becomes a kind of daily meal.