I am much more easily
tired than ever before. My walk to Castle Hill before February did not
make me feel so hopelessly tired as it now does to walk as far as the
Hawthornes'. Mr. Hawthorne had declined to come to dine with you on
your arrival, but was to be here directly after dinner. When he came I
happened to be the only one ready to go down. His first question was,
"Where is Elizabeth?" He was not at all inclined to bear the
disappointment of your not being here, after all. He thought it "too
bad," "insufferable," "not fair," and wondered what could be the
reason. I told him your excuse, and that there was a letter for him,
which Mary soon brought. He put it into his pocket without breaking
the seal. He looked very handsome, and was full of smiles. I assured
him the morning was the best time to do creative work. He said he
believed he would go and take a walk in South Salem. "Won't you go?"
he asked of me. But the wind was east.
MY DEAR LIZZIE,--I can think of nothing now but Charles Emerson. A
sudden gloom seems to overshadow me. I hope you will tell us to-morrow
whether he is dangerously ill. We had an exquisite visit from Waldo.
It was the warbling of the Attic bird. The gleam of his _diffused_
smile; the musical thunder of his voice; his repose, so full of the
essence of life; his simplicity--just think of all these, and of my
privilege in seeing and hearing him. He enjoyed everything we showed
him so much. He talked so divinely to Raphael's Madonna del Pesce.
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