Your own
letter is of a character to make one ashamed of any narrower or
ignobler sentiment than those of universal beneficence and good will;
and I freely confess that the world will not deserve to be called a
world of bargain and sale so long as it shall include men like
yourself. With much regard truly yours, N. H."
Two letters to Mrs. Peabody describe the Lenox scene:--
September 7, Sunday.
MY DEAREST MOTHER,--It is heaven's day, to-day, and the Lord's day,
and now baby sleeps and Una is at Highwood and Julian at play, and I
will begin at least to answer your sweet, patient, wise, and tender
letters. Yesterday and to-day have been tropical in heat and richness
and expansiveness, and I feel as if it is on such days only that we
really live and know how good is GOD. I wish I knew that you enjoy
such warmth and are not made languid by it. You will perhaps remember
that I am always strongest at 98 degrees Fahrenheit. I delight to
think that you also can look forth as I do now upon a broad valley and
a fine amphitheatre of hills, and are about to watch the stately
ceremony of sunset from your piazza. But you have not this lovely
Lake, nor I suppose the delicate purple mist which folds these
slumbering mountains in airy veils.
Mr. Hawthorne has been lying down in the sunshine, slightly fleckered
with the shadows of a tree, and Una and Julian have been making him
look like the mighty Tan by covering his chin and breast with long
grass-blades, that looked like a verdant and venerable beard.
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