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.
I manage to read a few books and look into more. Herman Grimm
sent me lately a good one, Goethe's _Unterhaltungen_ with
Muller,--which set me on Varnhagen and others. My wife sends old
regards, and her joy in this occasion.
Yours ever,
R.W. Emerson
P.S. Mr. Eliot took my rough counting of Volumes as correct.
When he sends me back the catalogue, I will make it exact.--I
sent you last week a little book by book-post.