There never was such perfection of style.
12th. We all walked out, papa and Una to the Lake, and across it, and
Julian and I on the sunny side of the house. There was a golden
sunset.
19th. My husband took the children out on the ice-bound lake. He read
aloud "Samson Agonistes" in the evening.
March 3. Una's birthday. She is seven years old. My husband began
"Wallenstein."
5th. Mr. Ticknor sent five engraved heads of Mr. Hawthorne. The face
is very melancholy.
8th. Mr. Tappan thinks Mr. Hawthorne's portrait looks like Tennyson.
10th. Mrs. Sedgwick brought me a letter from Elizabeth Bartol. My
husband read me Pope's "Epistles."
12th. At dusk arrived Herman Melville from Pittsfield. He was
entertained with champagne foam, manufactured of beaten eggs, loaf
sugar, and champagne. He invited us all to go and spend to-morrow
with him. My husband decided to go, with Una.
13th. Snowstorm. My husband has gone to Pittsfield. As soon as he and
Una drove off in the wagon, dear little Julian for the first time
thought of himself, and burst into a heart-breaking cry. To comfort
him, I told him I would read him "The Bear and the Skrattel," and
"Sam, the Cockerel," which made him laugh through floods of tears.
Then he relapsed, and said he would do nothing without Una. So I told
him he should have the Swiss cottage, the pearls, and the velvet
furniture. This was enchantment.
During his dinner he discoursed all the time about Giant Despair and
Christian.
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