some of these subsequent years; but I would keep one most pleasant memory, that of seeing Mr. Lowell and his lovely Maria White. O the blessed damozel! I went to Watertown to visit her sisters, the Misses White, and there I found this pretty idyl of a love affair going on.
The Whites lived in a grand house, of limitless capacity, at Watertown. This house seemed ever to be full, for each sister had a friend staying with her; and although there were five sisters at home, yet there was always room for one more. I remember that the beautiful, dark-eyed Misses Oilman, the daughters of the poetess Caroline Gilman, and the reverend doctor, their father, were there, and visitors for lunch and tea were always arriving. And here for the first time I saw that extraordinary genius, William Henry Hurlbert.
But I had eyes only for Maria, the blue-eyed beauty, the genius, with eyes lighted from behind and the smile which seemed to illumine the earth! She was a pré-destinée. Consumption had even then marked her for its own, and although she lived fourteen years after that she always walked with death at her side. Perhaps a certain unearthly quality of her beauty was owing to the influence of this malady, which is known to cast a radiance over its victims. But Maria White had no appearance then of an invalid. Her skin was beautifully fair, with no hectic in the cheeks, no color save the red of her lips; her hair, which was very profuse and worn in bandeaux over the ears, was a rich auburn brown, and her eyes very light blue, with long lashes; her teeth were a feature by themselves, so white, so perfect, and so regular, a set of graduated pearls. She was not a large woman nor a small one, rather slender than otherwise, perfectly graceful and well-
