And now, dear Emerson, Adieu.  Will your next Letter tell us the when? O my Friend!  We are here with Quakers, or Ex-Quakers rather; a very curious people, “like water from the crystal well”; in a very curious country too, most beautiful and very ugly:  but why write of it, or of anything more, while half asleep and lotos-eating!  Adieu, my Friend; come soon, and let us meet again under this Sun.

Yours,
    T. Carlyle

CXXV.  Emerson to Carlyle

Concord, 30 September, 1847

My Dear Carlyle,—­The last steamer brought, as ever, good tidings from you, though certainly from a new habitat, at Leeds, or near it.  If Leeds will only keep you a little in its precinct, I will search for you there; for it is one of the parishes in the diocese which Mr. Ireland and his friends have carved out for me on the map of England.

I have taken a berth in the packet-ship “Washington Irving,” which leaves Boston for Liverpool next week, 5 October; having decided, after a little demurring and advising, to follow my inclination in shunning the steamer.  The owners will almost take oath that their ship cannot be out of a port twenty days.  At Liverpool and Manchester I shall take advice of Ireland and his officers of the “Institutes,” and perhaps shall remain for some time in that region, if my courage and my head are equal to the work they offer me.  I will write you what befalls me in the strange city.  Who knows but I may have adventures—­I who had never one, as I have just had occasion to write to Mrs. Howitt, who inquired what mine were?

Well, if I survive Liverpool, and Manchester, and Leeds, or rather my errands thither, I shall come some fine day to see you in your burly city, you in the centre of the world, and sun me a little in your British heart.  It seems a lively passage that I am entering in the old Dream World, and perhaps the slumbers are lighter and the Morning is near.  Softly, dear shadows, do not scatter yet.  Knit your panorama close and well, till these rare figures just before me draw near, and are greeted and known.

But there is no more time in this late night—­and what need? since I shall see you and yours soon.

Ever yours,
         R.W.E.

CXXVI.  Carlyle to Emerson

Chelsea, 15 October, 1847

My Dear Emerson,—­Your Letter from Concord, of the 31st of July, had arrived duly in London; been duly forwarded to my transient address at Buxton in Derbyshire,—­and there, by the faithless Postmaster, retained among his lumber, instead of given to me when I called on him!  We staid in Buxton only one day and night; two Newspapers, as I recollect, the Postmaster did deliver to me on my demand; but your Letter he, with scandalous carelessness, kept back, and left me to travel forwards without: