meet no living creature; and have endless thoughts
as loving and as sad and sombre as I like. My
youngest Brother (whom on the whole I like best, a
rustic man, the express image of my Father in his
ways of living and thinking) is within ten miles of
me; Brother John “the Doctor” has come
down to Dumfries to a sister (twelve miles off), and
runs over to me by rail now and then in few minutes.
I have Books; but can hardly be troubled with them.
Pitiful temporary babble and balderdash, in comparison
to what the Silences can say to one. Enough
of all that: you perceive me sufficiently at
this point of my Pilgrimage, as withdrawn to Hades
for the time being; intending a month’s walk
there, till the muddy semi-solutions settle into sediment
according to what laws they have, and there be perhaps
a partial restoration of clearness. I have to
go deeper into Scotland by and by, perhaps to try
sailing, which generally agrees with me; but
till the end of September I hope there will be no
London farther. My poor Wife, who is again poorly
since I left (and has had frightful sufferings, last
year especially) will probably join me in this region
before I leave it. And see here, This is authentically
the way we figure in the eye of the Sun; and something
like what your spectacles, could they reach across
the Ocean into these nooks, would teach you of us.
There are three Photographs which I reckon fairly
like; these are properly what I had
to send you today,—little thinking that
so much surplusage would accumulate about them; to
which I now at once put an end. Your friend
Conway,* who is a boundless admirer of yours, used
to come our way regularly now and then; and we always
liked him well. A man of most gentlemanly, ingenious
ways; turn of thought always loyal and manly, though
tending to be rather winged than solidly ambulatory.
He talked of coming to Scotland too; but it seems
uncertain whether we shall meet. He is clearly
rather a favorite among the London people,—and
tries to explain America to them; I know not if with
any success. As for me, I have entirely lost
count and reckoning of your enormous element, and
its enormous affairs and procedures for some time past;
and can only wish (which no man more heartily does)
that all may issue in as blessed a way as you hope.
Fat—(if you know and his fat commonplace
at all) amused me much by a thing he had heard of
yours in some lecture a year or two ago. “The
American Eagle is a mighty bird; but what is he to
the American Peacock.” At which all the
audience had exploded into laughter. Very good.
Adieu, old Friend.
Yours ever,
T. Carlyle
--------- * Mr. Moncure D. Conway. ---------
CLXXIII. Emerson to Carlyle
Concord, 7 January, 1866