write to my friend once more, slow as
you may think me to use the privilege. For a good while I dared
believe you were coming hither, and why should I write?--and now
for weeks I have been absorbed in my foolish lectures, of which
only two are yet delivered and ended. There should be eight
more; subject, "The Present Age." Out of these follies I
remember you with glad heart. Lately I had Sterling's letter,
which, since I have read his article on you, I am determined to
answer speedily. I delighted in the spirit of that paper, loving
you so well and accusing you so conscientiously. What does he at
Clifton? If you communicate with him, tell him I thank him for
his letter, and hold him dear. I am very happy lately in adding
one or two new friends to my little circle, and you may be sure
every friend of mine is a friend of yours. So when you come here
you shall not be lonely. A new person is always to me a great
event, and will not let me sleep.--I believe I was not wise to
volunteer myself to this fever fit of lecturing again. I ought
to have written instead in silence and serenity. Yet I work
better under this base necessity, and then I have a certain
delight (base also?) in speaking to a multitude. But my joy in
friends, those sacred people, is my consolation for the mishaps
of the adventure, and they for the most part come to me from this
_publication_ of myself.--After ten or twelve weeks I think I
shall address myself earnestly to writing, and give some form to
my formless scripture.

I beg you will write to me and tell me what you do, and give me
good news of your wife and your brother. Can they not see the
necessity of your coming to look after your American interests?
My wife and mother love both you and them. A young man of New
York told me the other day he was about getting you an invitation
from an Association in that city to give them a course of
lectures on such terms as would at least make you whole in the
expenses of coming thither. We could easily do that in Boston.

--R.W. Emerson

What manner of person is Heraud? Do you read Landor, or know
him, O seeing man? Farewell!

XLIX. Carlyle to Emerson

Chelsea, London, 6 January, 1840

My Dear Emerson,--It is you, I surely think, that are in my debt
now;* nevertheless I must fling you another word: may it
cross one from you coming hither--as near the _Lizard Point_ as
it likes!

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*