But it is seldom warm enough. These last two
days are warm enough, and my soul seems to "expand and grow like corn
and melons," and I remember all beautiful behavior and noble deeds and
grand thoughts and high endeavors'; and the whole vast Universe seems
to blend in one single, unbroken recognition of the "Higher Law." Can
there be wrong, hate, fraud, injustice, cruelty, war, in such a
lovely, fair world as this before my eyes? Cannot cities be abolished,
so that men may realize the beauty of love and peace by contemplating
the broad and genial spaces where there is no strife? In the country
they would see that sunbeams do not wrangle, that forests of trees
agree together, that no flower disturbs another flower. I have written
and the sun has set; and the moon has risen, and reveals the fine
sculpture of nature. Una and Julian and Baby Rose are all in profound
repose. Not a sound can be heard but my pen-strokes, and the ever
welcome voice of the cricket, which seems expressly created to
announce silence and peace. . . . It is very singular how much more
we are in the centre of society in Lenox than we were in Salem, and
all literary persons seem settling around us. But when they get
established here I dare say we shall take flight. . . . Our present
picture is Julian, lying on an ottoman in the boudoir, looking at
drawings of Grecian gems; and just now he is filled with indignation
at the man who sent Hercules the poisoned shirt, because he is
contemplating that superb head of the "Suffering Hercules.
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