before Christmas, and have now lost her address. Poor Lady: I
sometimes silently wish she were safe home again; for truly
there can no madder enterprise than her present one be well
figured. Adieu, my Friend; I must stop short here. Write soon,
if you have any charity. Good be with you ever.

--T. Carlyle




CLVI. Emerson to Carlyle

Concord, 17 April, 1855

My Dear Friend,--On this delicious spring day, I will obey the
beautiful voices of the winds, long disobeyed, and address you;
nor cloud the hour by looking at the letters in my drawer to know
if a twelvemonth has been allowed to elapse since this tardy
writing was due. Mr. Everett sent me one day a letter he had
received from you, containing a kind message to me, which gave me
pleasure and pain. I returned the letter with thanks, and with
promises I would sin no more. Instantly, I was whisked, by "the
stormy wing of Fate," out of my chain, and whirled, like a dry
leaf, through the State of New York.

Now at home again, I read English Newspapers, with all the world,
and claim an imaginary privilege over my compatriots, that I
revolve therein my friend's large part. Ward said to me
yesterday, that Carlyle's star was daily rising. For C. had said