Lyulph
Stanley, an excellent, intelligent young gentleman whom I have
known ever since his infancy,--his father and mother being among
my very oldest friends in London; "Lord and Lady Stanley of
Alderley" (not of Knowesley, but a cadet branch of it), whom
perhaps you did not meet while here.

My young Friend is coming to look with his own eyes at your huge
and hugely travailing Country;--and I think will agree with you,
better than he does with me, in regard to that latest phenomenon.
At all events, he regards "Emerson" as intelligent Englishmen all
do; and you will please me much by giving him your friendliest
reception and furtherance,--which I can certify that he deserves
for his own sake, not counting mine at all.

Probably _he_ may deliver you the Vol. IV. of _Frederic;_ he
will tell you our news (part of which, what regards my poor Wife,
is very bad, though God be thanked not yet the worst);--and, in
some six months, he may bring me back some human tidings from
Concord, a place which always inhabits my memory,--though it is
so dumb latterly!

Yours ever,
T. Carlyle

CLXXI. Emerson to Carlyle

Concord, 26 September, 1864

Dear Carlyle,--Your friend, young Stanley, brought me your letter
now too many days ago. It contained heavy news of your
household,--yet such as in these our autumnal days we must await
with what firmness we can. I hear with pain that your Wife, whom
I have only seen beaming goodness and intelligence, has suffered
and suffers so severely. I recall my first visit to your house,
when I pronounced you wise and fortunate in relations wherein
best men are often neither wise nor fortunate. I had already
heard rumors of her serious illness. Send me word, I pray you,
that there is better health and hope. For the rest, the Colonna
motto would fit your letter, "Though sad, I am strong."

I had received in July, forwarded by Stanley, on his flight
through Boston, the fourth Volume of _Friedrich,_ and it was my
best reading in the summer, and for weeks my only reading: One
fact was paramount in all the good I drew from it, that
whomsoever many years had used and worn, they had not yet broken
any fibre of your force:--a pure joy to me, who abhor the inroads
which time makes on me and on my friends. To live too long is
the capital misfortune, and I sometimes think, if we shall not
parry it by better art of living, we shall learn to include in
our morals some bolder control