New-York tribune. [volume] (New York [N.Y.]) 1866-1924, 1883-07-06

m0O0.
world was chaos of babble and inanity, aud that
mankind were rushing into the ABYSS In heart
bursting with bitterness and pride there was little
room for love. or gratitude, or any Of the softer
emotions. His friendship with Emerson might be
cited as proof that he not Incapable OF sentl-
mental attachment The recently published vol
umss of Correspondence make IL clear. however,
that this intimacy rested-so far as Carlyles share
of ID went-upon purely intellectual basis. Emer-
son gave TO Carlyle the comprehension and inteil-
gent support of which the scornfu philosopher
felt although he might not al ways admit the need.
Not always; but at times be did acknowledge how
precious 1t was TO him. You are, and have for
long tire besn the one of all the sons of Adam who,
felt, completely understood what was saying;
and answered with truly human voce.-ine xpres-
sibly consoatory TO poor man In his lonesome
pilgrimage toward the evening Of the dayT For
this appIeciativs friend he did cherish genuine
fcndness. But 1t was q selfish fondness. He loved
Emerson for what Emerson was to Carlyle not ZOE
what Emerson was in himself; and Of that es-
sentla ingredient of true friendship the readiness
to MAKE sacrifices, we find evidence that this
sentiment contained trace. Carlyle had been all
his life accepting sacrifices; it WAS not in his way
to make them.
On the other side, the affection of Emerson for
Carlyle was pure and beautiful emotion. which
began with Intellectual sympathy and rpened Into
q touching personal regard There is something
indescribably fine in the pride and enthusiasm
with which Emerson watches his friends work. and
reoices in the growth of his fame. He Is made as
happy by Caryle's genius as If 1t were his individ-
ual possession. He delights in 1t with simplicity
which is almost boyish No one can say just
wherein lies the difference in the letters of the two
mon; both arc cordial and GENTLE both are appre-
ola huftha In
cannot help feeling. The savage cynicisn of the
one, the exquisite urbanity and composure OF the
other are the expression of two characters radically
unlike, and when they struck partnership one
gave n great deal more than tho other. The I'M
equal frendJhip tho inevitable consequence,
for thing. of differing temperaments, and tho
contrast their natures especially in their capacity
for emotion. is singuarly illustrated by two pas
sages In their letters bearing upon the approach OF
old ago: SYou will think me far g0ue" wrote
Carlyle and much bankrupt In hope and heart -
and indeed I am; as good without hope and
without fear; goomily serious, silent and sad old
man gazing into the final chasm of things, In mute
dialogue with Death. Judgment and Eternity
dialogue mute on both sidesD. not caring to dis
course with poor misunderstanding fellowcreat-
ures on their sorts Of topics. 1t Is right Of me- and
yet also 1t is not right often feel that had
better be dead than thus Indifferent, scontemptuous,
Disguised with the world and its roaring nonsense,
which have no thought further of lifting finger
to help, and only try to keep out Of the way and
shut the door against" And 1t is thus that the
gentle Emerson approaches his evening y You hug
yourself on missing the illusion Of children, and
must be ptied as having glsterng toy the less.
] am q victim all my days to certain giaces Of form
and behavior and can never come into equilibrium.
Now am fooled by my own young people. and grow
old contentod.'
Perhaps still moro important cause of inequality
In their friendship the radical difference in
their way of looking az life. q You seom to me-"
said Carlyle, "in danger of dividing yourselves
from the Fact OF this present Universe la which
alone ugly as 1t it, can I find any anchorage, and
soaring away after Ideas Beliefs. Revelations and
such like,-into porllous attitudes, as think;
beyond the curve of perpetual FROST for one thing!
know not how to utter what impression you give
me take the above as some stamping Of the fore
hoof. Surely could wish you returned into your
own poor nineteenth century, Its follies and NAL
aides its blind or half-blind but gigantic tougs
its laughter aud its tears, and trying to evolve In
some measure tho hidden Godke that lies IN Il -
that seems to me tho kind feat for literary men,
have to object still what You will call objecting
against the Law OF Naturel that We find you "a
Speaker indeed. but it were SOiiloquis~ on the
eternal mountaln-tops only. In vast sotudes where
men and their affairs lie all hushed In very dim
remoteness end only the and the stars and the
earth are visible,-whom so fine fellow seems he
wo could perpetually punch into. and say why
WON'T you come down and help rs. thenf We have
terrible need of one man like you down among MS |!
II is cold and vacant up there; nothing paintablc
but ranbows aud emotions come down, and you
shall do life-pictures. PASSIONS facts,-which |
transcend all thought, ana leave 1t suffering and
stammering." What you say respecting the re-
moteness of my writing and thinking from real lite."
replied Emerson. though hear substantially the |
same criticism made by my countrymen, do not |
know what Il means II can at any time express |
the law and the ideal right. that should satisfy me
without measuring she divergence from 1t of tho |
last Act OF Congress-" The world knows now which |
was In this right and which saw the most of the |
Truth which both loved earnestly tho who |
fought. and CRASHED his teeth and rallied, and |
wounded gentle hearts I" down herc," and yet, with
NIL his burning hatred Of shams ana injustice, did
nevertheless hug black wronss aud deusions now
happily exploded; or he who from the serene
heights spoke with gentle and sweet voice. and
looked upon the work. with clear and far-reach-
ing oye.