I meant to write a longish Letter, touching on many other points,—­though you see I am reduced to pencil, and “write” with such difficulty (never yet could learn to “dictate,” though my little Niece here is promptitude itself, and is so swift and legible,—­useful here as a cheerful rushlight in this now sombre element, sombre, sad, but also beautiful and tenderly solemn more and more, in which she bears me company, good little “Mary"!).  But, in bar of all such purposes, Publisher Chapman has come in, with Cromwell Engravings and their hindrances, with money accounts, &c., &c.; and has not even left me a moment of time, were nothing else needed!

Vol.  XIV. (Cromwell, I.) ought to be at Concord about as soon as this.  In our Newspapers I notice your Book announced, “half of the Essays new,”—­which I hope to get quam primum, and illuminate some evenings with,—­so as nothing else can, in my present common mood.

Adieu, dear old Friend.  I am and remain yours always,

—­T.  Carlyle

CLXXXI.  Emerson to Carlyle

Concord, 21 March, 1870

My Dear Carlyle,—­On receiving your letter and catalogue I wrote out a little history of the benefaction and carried it last Tuesday to President Eliot at Cambridge, who was heartily gratified, and saw everything rightly, and expressed an anxiety (most becoming in my eyes after my odious shortcomings) that there should be no moment of delay on our part.  “The Corporation would not meet again for a fortnight:—­but he would not wait,—­ would call a special meeting this week to make the communication to them.”  He did so:  the meeting was held on Saturday and I have received this (Monday) morning from him enclosed letter and record.

It is very amiable and noble in you to have kept this surprise for us in your older days.  Did you mean to show us that you could not be old, but immortally young? and having kept us all murmuring at your satires and sharp homilies, will now melt us with this manly and heart-warming embrace?  Nobody could predict and none could better it.  And you shall even go your own gait henceforward with a blessing from us all, and a trust exceptional and unique.  I do not longer hesitate to talk to such good men as I see of this gift, and it has in every ear a gladdening effect.  People like to see character in a gift, and from rare character the gift is more precious.  I wish it may be twice blest in continuing to give you the comfort it will give us.

I think I must mend myself by reclaiming my old right to send you letters.  I doubt not I shall have much to tell you, could I overcome the hesitation to attempt a reasonable letter when one is driven to write so many sheets of mere routine as sixty-six (nearly sixty-seven) years enforce.  I shall have to prate of my daughters;—­Edith Forbes, with her two children at Milton; Ellen Emerson at home, herself a godsend to this house day by day; and my son Edward studying medicine in Boston,—­whom I have ever meant and still mean to send that he may see your face when that professional curriculum winds up.