me such a young child can take away. A few
weeks ago I accounted myself a very rich man, and now the poorest
of all. What would it avail to tell you anecdotes of a sweet and
wonderful boy, such as we solace and sadden ourselves with at
home every morning and evening? From a perfect health and as
happy a life and as happy influences as ever child enjoyed, he
was hurried out of my arms in three short days by Scarlatina.--We
have two babes yet,--one girl of three years, and one girl of
three months and a week, but a promise like that Boy's I shall
never see. How often I have pleased myself that one day I should
send to you this Morning Star of mine, and stay at home so gladly
behind such a representative. I dare not fathom the Invisible
and Untold to inquire what relations to my Departed ones I yet
sustain. Lidian, the poor Lidian, moans at home by day and by
night. You too will grieve for us, afar. I believe I have two
letters from you since I wrote last. I shall write again soon,
for Bronson Alcott will probably go to London in about a month,
and him I shall surely send to you, hoping to atone by his great
nature for many smaller one, that have craved to see you. Give
me early advice of receiving these Bills of Exchange.

---------
* The memory of this Boy, "born for the future, to the future
lost;" is enshrined in the heart of every lover of childhood and
of poetry by his father's impassioned _Threnody._
-----------

Tell Jane Carlyle our sorrowing story with much love, and with
all good hope for her health and happiness. Tell us when you
write, with as much particularity as you can, how it stands with
you, and all your household; with the Doctor, and the friends;
what you do, and propose to do, and whether you will yet come to
America, one good day?

Yours with love,
R. Waldo Emerson

LXXIV. Carlyle to Emerson

Templand, Thornhill, Dumfries, Scotland
28 March, 1842

My Dear Friend,--This is heavy news that you send me; the
heaviest outward bereavement that can befall a man has overtaken
you. Your calm tone of deep, quiet sorrow, coming in on the rear
of poor trivial worldly businesses, all punctually despatched and
recorded too, as if the Higher and Highest had not been busy with
you, tells me a sad tale. What can we say in these cases? There
is nothing to be said,--nothing but what the wild son of Ishmael,
and every thinking heart, from of old have learned to say: God
is