I received with great satisfaction your letter of July, which came by a later steamer than it was written for, but gave me exact and solid information on what I most wished to know.  May you live forever, and may your reports of men and things be accessible to me whilst I live!  Even if, as now in Sterling’s case, the news are the worst, or nearly so, yet let whatever comes for knowledge be precise, for the direst tragedy that is accurately true must share the blessing of the Universe.  I have no later tidings from Sterling, and I must still look to you to tell me what you can.  I dread that the story should be short.  May you have much good to tell of him, and for many a day to come!  The sketch you drew of Tennyson was right welcome, for he is an old favorite of mine,—­I owned his book before I saw your face;—­though I love him with allowance.  O cherish him with love and praise, and draw from him whole books full of new verses yet.  The only point on which you never give precise intelligence is your own book; but you shall have your will in that; so only you arrive on the shores of light at last, with your mystic freight fished partly out of the seas of time, and partly out of the empyrean deeps.

I have much regretted a sudden note I wrote you just before the steamer of 1 September sailed, entreating you to cumber yourself about my proofsheets sent to the London bookseller.  I heartily absolve you from all such vexations.  Nothing could be more inconsiderate.  Mr. Chapman is undoubtedly amply competent to ordinary correction, and I much prefer to send you my little book in decent trim than in rags and stains and deformities more than its own.  I have just corrected and sent to the steamer the last sheets for Mr. Chapman, who is to find English readers if he can.  I shall ask Mr. Chapman to send you a copy, for his edition will be more correct than mine.  What can I tell you better?  Why even this, that this house rejoices in a brave boy, now near three months old.  Edward we call him, and my wife calls him Edward Waldo.  When shall I show him to you?  And when shall I show you a pretty pasture and wood-lot which I bought last week on the borders of a lake which is the chief ornament of this town, called Walden Pond?  One of these days, if I should have any money, I may build me a cabin or a turret there high as the tree-tops, and spend my nights as well as days in the midst of a beauty which never fades for me.

Yours with love,
            R.W.  Emerson

XCVI.  Carlyle to Emerson

Chelsea, 3 November, 1844