mid-April 1886

Thank you, Dear friend - I am better. The velocity of the ill, however, is like that of the snail.

I am glad of your Father's tranquility, and of your own courage.

Fear makes us all martial.

I could hardly have thought it possible that the scholarly Stranger to whom my Father introduced me, could have mentioned my Friend, almost itself a Vision, or have still left a Legend to relate his name [no period included--gsss]

With the exception of my Sister who never saw Mr Wadsworth, your Name alone remains.

"Going Home," was he not an Aborigine of the sky? The last time he came in Life, I was with my Lilies and Heliotropes, said my sister to me, "the Gentleman with the deep voice wants to see you, Emily," hearing him ask of the servant. "Where did you come from," I said, for he spoke like an Apparition.

"I stepped from my Pulpit [from] to the Train" was my [sic] simple reply, and when I asked "how long," "Twenty Years" said he with inscrutable roguery - but the loved Voice has ceased, and to some one who hard him "Going Home," it was sweet to speak. I am glad his Willie is faithful, of whom he said "the Frogs were his little friends" and I told him they were my Dogs, the last smile that he gave me. Thank you for each circumstance, and tell me all you love to say of what said your lost Brother "The Doctor opened his Heart to Charlie." Excuse me for the Voice, this moment immortal. With my Sister's remembrance,

E. Dickinson.