if they had never so much of it to give; a man can and must save
himself, with or without their sympathy, as it may chance.

"And may all good be with you, my kind young friend, and a heart stout
enough for this adventure you are upon; that is the best 'good' of all.

"I remain, yours very sincerely,

"T. CARLYLE."


Carlyle had forgotten this letter, but said, "It is undoubtedly mine.
It is what I have always believed . . . it has been so ever since I was
at college. I do not mean to say I was not loved there as warmly by
noble friends as ever man could be, but the world tumbled on me, and has
ever since then been tumbling on me rubbish, huge wagon-loads of
rubbish, thinking to smother me, and was surprised it did not smother
me--turned round with amazement and said, 'What, you alive yet?' . . .
While I was writing my Frederick my best friends, out of delicacy, did
not call. Those who came were those I did not want to come, and I saw
very few of them. I shook off everything to right and left. At last
the work would have killed me, and I was obliged to take to riding,
chiefly in the dark, about fourteen miles most days, plunging and
floundering on. I ought to have been younger to have undertaken such a
task. If they were to offer me all Prussia, all the solar system, I
would not write Frederick again. No bribe from God or man would tempt
me to do it."

He was re-reading his Frederick, to correct it for the stereotyped
edition. "On the whole I think it is very well done. No man perhaps in