with unusual difficulty in finding the right word.  He was entirely comfortable and enjoyed talking, and, as he liked to have me read to him, I read Paul Revere’s Ride, finding that he could only follow simple narrative.  He expressed great pleasure, was delighted that the story was part of Concord’s story, but was sure he had never heard it before, and could hardly be made to understand who Longfellow was, though he had attended his funeral only the week before.”

It was at Longfellow’s funeral that Emerson got up from his chair, went to the side of the coffin and gazed long and earnestly upon the familiar face of the dead poet; twice he did this, then said to a friend near him, “That gentleman was a sweet, beautiful soul, but I have entirely forgotten his name.”

Continuing the narrative, the son says:  “Though dulled to other impressions, to one he was fresh as long as he could understand anything, and while even the familiar objects of his study began to look strange, he smiled and pointed to Carlyle’s head and said, ‘That is my man, my good man!’ I mention this because it has been said that this friendship cooled, and that my father had for long years neglected to write to his early friend.  He was loyal while life lasted, but had been unable to write a letter for years before he died.  Their friendship did not need letters.

“The next day pneumonia developed itself in a portion of one lung and he seemed much sicker; evidently believed he was to die, and with difficulty made out to give a word or two of instructions to his children.  He did not know how to be sick, and desired to be dressed and sit up in his study, and as we had found that any attempt to regulate his actions lately was very annoying to him, and he could not be made to understand the reasons for our doing so in his condition, I determined that it would not be worth while to trouble and restrain him as it would a younger person who had more to live for.  He had lived free; his life was essentially spent, and in what must almost surely be his last illness we would not embitter the occasion by any restraint that was not absolutely unavoidable.

“He suffered very little, took his nourishment well, but had great annoyance from his inability to find the words which he wished for.  He knew his friends and family, but thought he was in a strange house.  He sat up in a chair by the fire much of the time, and only on the last day stayed entirely in bed.

“During the sickness he always showed pleasure when his wife sat by his side, and on one of the last days he managed to express, in spite of his difficulty with words, how long and happy they had lived together.  The sight of his grandchildren always brought the brightest smile to his face.  On the last day he saw several of his friends and took leave of them.

“Only at the last came pain, and this was at once relieved by ether, and in the quiet sleep this produced he gradually faded away in the evening of Thursday, April 27, 1882.