one); or else opening on you
a grandeur of still Dulness, rarely to be met with on earth.

-------------
* The words supplied here were lost under the seal of the letter.
-------------

My friend! I must end here. Forgive me till I get done with
this Book. Can you have the generosity to write, _without_ an
answer? Well, if you can_not,_ I will answer. Do not forget me.
My love and my Wife's to your good Lady, to your Brother, and all
friends. Tell me what you do; what your world does. As for my
world, take this (which I rendered from the German Voss, a tough
old-Teutonic fellow) for the best I can say of it:--

"As journeys this Earth, her eye on a Sun, through the
heavenly spaces,
And, radiant in azure, or Sunless, swallowed in tempests,
Falters not, alters not; journeying equal, sunlit or
stormgirt
So thou, Son of Earth, who hast Force,
Goal, and Time, go still onwards."

Adieu, my dear friend! Believe me ever Yours,
Thomas Carlyle

XII. Emerson to Carlyle

Concord, Massachusetts, 17 September, 1836

My Dear Friend,--I hope you do not measure my love by the
tardiness of my messages. I have few pleasures like that of
receiving your kind and eloquent letters. I should be most
impatient of the long interval between one and another, but that
they savor always of Eternity, and promise me a friendship and
friendly inspiration not reckoned or ended by days or years.
Your last letter, dated in April, found me a mourner, as did your
first. I have lost out of this world my brother Charles,* of
whom I have spoken to you,--the friend and companion of many
years, the inmate of my house, a man of a beautiful genius, born
to speak well, and whose conversation for these last years has
treated every grave question of humanity, and has been my daily
bread. I have put so much dependence on his gifts that we made
but one man together; for I needed never to do what he could do
by noble nature much better than I. He was to have been married
in this month, and at the time of his sickness and sudden
death I was adding apartments to my house for his permanent
accommodation. I wish that you could have known him. At
twenty-seven years the best life is only preparation. He built
his foundation so large that it needed the full age of man to make
evident the plan and proportions of his character. He postponed
always a particular to a final and a