Yes, you shall see that it will be the best of all your books, and small
thanks to it, it has taken a doing." On which the author naively purrs:
"It would be worth while to write books, if mankind would read them as
you." Later he speaks of his wife's recognition and that of Emerson--who
wrote enthusiastically of the art of the work, though much of it was
across his grain--as "the only bit of human criticism in which he could
discern lineaments of the thing." But the book was a swift success, two
editions of 2000 and another of 1000 copies being sold in a comparatively
brief space. Carlyle's references to this--after his return from another
visit to the north and the second trip to Germany--seen somewhat
ungracious:--
Book ... much babbled over in newspapers ... no better to me
than the barking of dogs ... officious people put reviews
into my hands, and in an idle hour I glanced partly into
these; but it would have been better not, so sordidly ignorant
and impertinent were they, though generally laudatory.
[Footnote: Carlyle himself writes: "I felt well enough how it was crushing
down her existence, as it was crushing down my own; and the thought that
she had not been at the choosing of it, and yet must suffer so for it, was
occasionally bitter to me. But the practical conclusion always was, Get
done with it, get done with it! For the saving of us both that is the one
outlook.
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