My dear Darwin

Your very kind letter surprised me— Not that I was surprised at the pleasant & very welcome feeling with which it was written.¹ But I could not make out what I had done to deserve the praise of “extraordinary kindness of yourself & family”. I would most willingly have done my best to promote the objects of your visit but you gave me no opportunity of doing so. I was truly grieved to find that my joy at seeing you again was almost too robust for your state of nerves, & that my society, after a little while, became oppressive to you. But I do trust that your Cambridge visit has done you no constitutional harm—nay rather that it has done you some good— I only speak honest truth when I say that I was overflowing with joy when I saw you; & saw you in the midst of a dear family party & solaced at every turn by the loving care of a dear Wife & Daughters.² How different from my position—that of a very old man, living in cheerless solitude!

May God bless & cheer you all with the comfort of hopeful hearts!—you & your Wife, & your Sons & Daughters!—

You were talking about my style of writing— I send you my last specimen; & it will probably continue to be my last— It is the continuation of a former Pamphlet of which I have not one spare copy— I do not ask you to read it.³ It is addressed to the old people in my native Dale of Dent, on the outskirts of Westmorland—while standing at the door of the old vicarage I can see down the valley the Lake mountains—Hill Bell at the head of Windermere about 20 miles off—⁴ On Thursday next D.V.⁵ I am to start for Dent which I have not visited for full two years.— Two years ago I could walk three or four miles with comfort— Now, alas!, I can only hobble about on my stick

I remain your true hearted old friend | A Sedgwick