My dear Friend, I shall melt and be mailed in this
letter as a spot if I do not surcease. May you
be blest with frigidity, a blessing far removed from
my hope. Of course I must be warmly, nay, hotly
remembered to Charles.
Yrs ever,
G.W.C.
CONCORD, August 7th, 1844.
My regret at not seeing you was only lessened by the
beautiful day I passed with Mr. Hawthorne. His
life is so harmonious with the antique repose of his
house, and so redeemed into the present by his infant,
that it is much better to sit an hour with him than
hear the Rev. Barzillai Frost! His baby is the
most serenely happy I ever saw. It is very beautiful,
and lies amid such placid influences that it too may
have a milk-white lamb as emblem; and Mrs. Hawthorne
is so tenderly respectful towards her husband that
all the romance we picture in a cottage of lovers
dwells subdued and dignified with them. I see
them very seldom. The people here who are worth
knowing, I find, live very quietly and retired.
In the country, friendship seems not to be of that
consuming, absorbing character that city circumstances
give it, but to be quite content to feel rather than
hear or do; and that very independence which withdraws
them into the privacy of their homes is the charm
which draws thither.
Mr. Emerson read an address before the anti-slavery
“friends” last Thursday. It was very
fine. Not of that cold, clear, intellectual character
which so many dislike, but ardent and strong.
His recent reading of the history of the cause has
given him new light and warmed a fine enthusiasm.
It commenced with allusions to the day “which
gives the immense fortification of a fact to a great
principle,” and then drew in strong, bold outline
the progress of British emancipation. Thence to
slavery in its influence upon the holders, to the remark
that this event hushed the old slander about inferior
natures in the negro, thence to the philosophy of
slavery, and so through many detached thoughts to the
end. It was nearly two hours long, but was very
commanding. He looked genial and benevolent,
as who should smilingly defy the world, the flesh,
and the devil to ensnare him. The address will
be published by the society; and he will probably
write it more fully, and chisel it into fitter grace
for the public criticism. He spoke of your unfortunate
call, but said you bore the sulkiness very well.
George Bradford was also very sorry; and it was bad
that you should come so far, with the faces of friends
for a hospitable city before you, and find a mirage
only, or (begging Burrill’s pardon) one house.
