study sofa, and when he awoke he proved to be more feverish and a
little bewildered, 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 b