less of the feelings of a brother and a son. My heart never was
closer, not so close as it is now to yours. . . .

"Do not think this is imagination; in this I have had too much
experience. The life that was in me had none to commune with, and I
felt it was consuming me. I tried to express this in different ways
obscurely, but it appeared singular and no one understood me. This
was the cause of my wishing to go away, hoping I would either get
clear of it or something might turn up, I knew not what. One course
was advised by the doctor, and you all thought as he did--that was to
keep company with the intention of getting married. This was not the
communion that I wanted or that was congenial to my life. Marrying
would not, I am convinced, have had any permanent effect. It was not
that which controlled me, then or now. It is altogether different; it
is a life in me which requires altogether different circumstances to
live it. This is no dream; or, if it is, then have I never had such
reality. . . .

"When I wrote last it struck me I might secure what I need at Brook
Farm, but that would depend greatly upon how you answer my letter. If
you do as perhaps you may, I will go and see whether I could be
satisfied and how it is, and let you know.

"So far had I written when your letter came. . . . You appear to ask
this question: What object have you in contemplation? _None further
than to live a life agreeable to the mind I have, which I feel under
a necessity to do."_

"Chelsea, December 30, 1842.--TO MOTHER: I am sorry to hear that you
feel worried. My health is good, I eat and sleep well. That my mind