ower refuses to be divorced,
is on a new scale. Californian quartz mountains dumped down in
New York to be repiled architecturally along shore from Canada to
Cuba, and thence west to California again. John Bull interests
you at home, and is all your subject. Come and see the
Jonathanization of John. What, you scorn all this? Well, then,
come and see a few good people, impossible to be seen on any
other shore, who heartily and always greet you. There is a very
serious welcome for you here. And I too shall wake from sleep.
My wife entreats that an invitation shall go from her to you.

Faithfully yours,
R.W. Emerson

CLV. Carlyle to Emerson

Chelsea, 8 April, 1854

Dear Emerson,--It was a morning not like any other which lay
round it, a morning to be marked white, that one, about a week
ago, when your Letter came to me; a word from you yet again,
after so long a silence! On the whole, I perceive you will not
utterly give up answering me, but will rouse yourself now and
then to a word of human brotherhood on my behalf, so long as we
both continue in this Planet. And I declare, the Heavens will
reward you; and as to me, I will be thankful for what I get, and
submissive to delays and to all things: all things are good
compared with flat want in that respect. It remains true, and
will remain, what I have often told you, that properly there is
no voice in this world which is completely human to me, which
fully understands all I say and with clear sympathy and sense
answers to me, but your voice only. That is a curious fact, and
not quite a joyful one to me. The solitude, the silence of my
poor soul, in the centre of this roaring whirlpool called
Universe, is great, always, and sometimes strange and almost
awful. I have two million talking bipeds without feathers, close
at my elbow, too; and of these it is often hard for me to say
whether the so-called "wise" or the almost professedly foolish
are the more inexpressibly unproductive to me. "Silence,
Silence!" I often say to myself: "Be silent, thou poor fool;
and prepare for that Divine Silence which is now not far!"--On
the whole, write to me whenever you can; and be not weary of
well-doing.

I have had sad things to do and see since I wrote to you: the
loss of my dear and good old Mother, which could not be spared me
forever, has come more like a kind of total bankruptcy upon me
than might have been expected, considering her age