Yesterday _was_ a day for me, dearest Friend. In the morning your letter, strong, cheerful, reassuring--dear letter. In the afternoon the books. I don't know how to settle down my thoughts calmly enough to write, nor how to lay down the books (with delicate yet serviceable exterior, with inscription making me so proud, so joyous). But there are a few things I want to say to you at once in regard to our coming to America. I will not act without "further advice from you"; but as to not resolving on it, dear friend, I can't exactly obey that, for it has been my settled, steady purpose (resting on a deep, strong faith) ever since 1869. Nor do I feel discouraged or surprised at what you say of American "crudeness," &c. (of which, in truth, one hears not a little in England). I have not shut my eyes to the difficulties and trials & responsibilities (for the children's sake) of the enterprise. I am not urged on by any discontent with old England or by any adverse circumstances here which I might hope to better there: my reasons, emotions, the sources of my strength and courage for the uprooting & transplanting--all are inclosed in those two volumes that lie before me on the table. That America has brought them forth makes me want to plant some, at least, of my children on her soil. I understand & believe in & love her in & through them. They teach me to look beneath the surface & to get hints of the great future that is shaping itself out of the crude present, & I believe we shall prove to be of the right sort to plant down there.--O to talk it all over with you, dearest Friend, here in London first; I feel as if that would really be--the joy, the comfort, of that. I cannot finish this to-day but send what I have written without delay that you may know of the safe arrival of the books. With reverent, grateful love from us all. ANNE GILCHRIST. LETTER XXXVI ANNE GILCHRIST TO WALT WHITMAN _1 Torriano Gardens Camden Rd. London April 21, 1876._ MY DEAREST FRIEND: I must write again, out of a full heart. For the reading of this book, "The Two Rivulets," has filled it very full. Ever the deep inward assent, rising up strong, exultant my immortal self recognizing, responding to your immortal self. Ever the sense of dearness, the sweet, subtle perfume, pervading every page, every line, to my sense--O I cannot put into any words what I perceive nor what answering emotion pervades me, flows out towards you--sweetest, deepest, greatest experience of my life--what I was made for--surely I was made as the soil in which the precious seed of your thoughts & emotions should be planted--try to fulfil themselves in me, that I might by & bye blossom into beauty & bring forth rich fruits--immortal fruits. So no doubt other women feel, and future women will.