We now return to Telford's personal history during this important period of his career. He had long promised himself a visit to his dear Eskdale, and the many friends he had left there; but more especially to see his infirm mother, who had descended far into the vale of years, and longed to see her son once more before she died. He had taken constant care that she should want for nothing. She formed the burden of many of his letters to Andrew Little. "Your kindness in visiting and paying so much attention to her," said he, "is doing me the greatest favour which you could possibly confer upon me." He sent his friend frequent sums of money, which he requested him to lay out in providing sundry little comforts for his mother, who seems to have carried her spirit of independence so far as to have expressed reluctance to accept money even from her own son. "I must request," said he, "that you will purchase and send up what things may be likely to be wanted, either for her or the person who may be with her, as her habits of economy will prevent her from getting plenty of everything, especially as she thinks that I have to pay for it, which really hurts me more than anything else."*[7] Though anxious to pay his intended visit, he was so occupied with one urgent matter of business and another that he feared it would be November before he could set out. He had to prepare a general statement as to the navigation affairs for a meeting of the committee; he must attend the approaching Salop quarter sessions, and after that a general meeting of the Canal Company; so that his visit must be postponed for yet another month. "Indeed," said he, "I am rather distressed at the thoughts of running down to see a kind parent in the last stage of decay, on whom I can only bestow an affectionate look, and then leave her: her mind will not be much consoled by this parting, and the impression left upon mine will be more lasting; than pleasant."*[8] He did, however, contrive to run down to Eskdale in the following November. His mother was alive, but that was all. After doing what he could for her comfort, and providing that all her little wants were properly attended to, he hastened back to his responsible duties in connection with the Ellesmere Canal. When at Langholm, he called upon his former friends to recount with them the incidents of their youth. He was declared to be the same "canty" fellow as ever, and, though he had risen greatly in the world, he was "not a bit set up." He found one of his old fellow workmen, Frank Beattie, become the principal innkeeper of the place. "What have you made of your mell and chisels?" asked Telford. "Oh!" replied Beattie, "they are all dispersed--perhaps lost." "I have taken better care of mine," said Telford; "I have them all locked up in a room at Shrewsbury, as well as my old working clothes and leather apron: you know one can never tell what may happen."