Greeley of the New York Tribune is the right spiritual father of all this region; he prints and disperses one hundred and ten thousand newspapers in one day,—­multitudes of them in these very parts.  He had preceded me, by a few days, and people had flocked together, coming thirty and forty miles to hear him speak; as was right, for he does all their thinking and theory for them, for two dollars a year.  Other than Colonists, I saw no man.  “There are no singing birds in the prairie,” I truly heard.  All the life of the land and water had distilled no thought.  Younger and better, I had no doubt been tormented to read and speak their sense for them.  Now I only gazed at them and their boundless land.

One good word closed your letter in September, which ought to have had an instant reply, namely, that you might come westward when Frederic was disposed of.  Speed Frederic, then, for all reasons and for this!  America is growing furiously, town and state; new Kansas, new Nebraska looming up in these days, vicious politicians seething a wretched destiny for them already at Washington.  The politicians shall be sodden, the States escape, please God!  The fight of slave and freeman drawing nearer, the question is sharply, whether slavery or whether freedom shall be abolished.  Come and see.  Wealth, which is always interesting, for from wealth power 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