Mr. Ellery Channing was, I am sure, the townsman who was most gladly
welcome. My parents felt great admiration and friendliness for him,
and it would be a sacrifice on my own part not to mention this
companion of theirs, although I must beg his pardon for doing so.
There is no doubt that Concord would have hung with several added
pounds of weight upon our imaginations if it had not been for him.
Over his tender-heartedness, as I saw him in the old days, played
delicious eccentricities, phosphorescent, fitful, touch-me-not antics
of feeling. I was glad to meet the long glance of his gray, dazzling
eyes, lowered gracefully at last. The gaze seemed to pass through me
to the wall, and beyond even that barrier to the sky at the horizon
line. It did not disturb me; it had been too kindly to criticise, or
so I thought. No doubt Mr. Channing had made his little regretful,
uncomplimentary notes in passing, but it was characteristic of his
exquisite comradeship towards all that we did not fear his eyes. I say
comradeship, although the power which I believed touched him with its
wand so mischievously had induced him to drop (as a boy loses
successively all his marbles) all his devoted friends, without a word
of explanation, because without a shadow of reason; the only thing to
be said about it being that the loss was entirely voluntary on the
part of this charming boy. He would cease to bow, as he passed. Then
he found the marbles again, pocketed them as if nothing had happened,
smiled, called, and hob-nobbed.
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