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Fuller's Book. I sent
by Mr. James a small Packet of _your_ letters--which will make
you sad to look at them! Adieu, dear friend.
--T. Carlyle


XCVII. Emerson to Carlyle
Concord, 31 December, 1844
My Dear Friend,--I have long owed you a letter and have much to
acknowledge. Your two letters containing tidings, the first of
the mortal illness, and the second of the death of Sterling, I
had no heart to answer. I had nothing to say. Alas! as in so
many instances heretofore, I knew not what to think. Life is
somewhat customary and usual; and death is the unusual and
astonishing; it kills in so far the survivor also, when it
ravishes from him friendship and the most noble and admirable
qualities. That which we call faith seems somewhat stoical and
selfish, if we use it as a retreat from the pangs this ravishment
inflicts. I had never seen him, but I held him fast; now I see
him not, but I can no longer hold him. Who can say what he yet
is and will be to me? The most just and generous can best divine
that.


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