ladelphia has gotten
in these times would not have disquieted you in this long delay.
If you have ever heard directly from Carey and Hart, you will
inform me.

I am to read to a society in Boston presently some lectures,
--on Plato, or the Philosopher; Swedenborg, or the Mystic;
Montaigne, or the Sceptic; Shakespeare, or the Poet; Napoleon,
or the Man of the World;--if I dare, and much lecturing makes us
incorrigibly rash. Perhaps, before I end it, my list will be
longer, and the measure of presumption overflowed. I may take
names less reverend than some of these,--but six lectures I have
promised. I find this obligation usually a good spur to the
sides of that dull horse I have charge of. But many of its
advantages must be regarded at a long distance.

I have heard nothing from you for a long time,--so may your
writing prosper the more. I wish to hear, however, concerning
you, and your house, and your studies, when there is little to
tell. The steamers come so fast--to exchange cards would not be
nothing. My wife and children and my mother are well. Peace and
love to your household.

--R.W. Emerson

CIII. Emerson to Carlyle

Concord, 30 September, 1845

My Dear Friend,--I had hardly sent away my letter by the last
steamer, when yours full of good news arrived. I greet you
heartily on the achievement of your task, and the new days of
freedom obtained and deserved. Happiest, first, that you can
work, which seems the privilege of the great, and then, also,
that thereby you can come at the sweetness of victory and rest.
Yes, flee to the country, ride, run, leap, sit, spread yourself
at large; and in all ways celebrate the immense benevolence of
the Universe towards you; and never complain again of dyspepsia,
crosses, or the folly of men; for in giving you this potent
concentration, what has been withholden? I am glad with all men
that a new book is made, that the gentle creation as well as the
grosser goes ever on. Another month will bring it to me, and I
shall know the secrets of these late silent years. Welcome the
child of my friend! Why should I regret that I see you not, when
you are forced thus intimately to discover yourself beyond the
intimacy of conversation?

But you should have sent me out the sheets by the last steamer,
or a manuscript copy of the book. I do not know but Munroe would
have printed it at once, and defied the penny press. And sl