Pleasant pictures of that kind and hospitable Randall family, now all sleeping side by side in one tomb at Mount Auburn, were drawn, however poorly, in the boy's journals of those early days, worthless except for the authentic re- flections they give of real scenes. No near relative is left to shrink from showing these pictures to the reader ; and my duty to give some glimpses of the poet's lovable char- acter, so little known to his contemporaries, must be my excuse for venturing to insert here a series of extracts from those journals, with all their boyish crudity and gar- rulousness, as follows : —
" Wednesday, April ^o, 1 8^1. . . . After dinner we went to spend the afternoon with Mr. John W. Randall and his sisters, who invited us a day or two ago. We got there about four o'clock, and after a little while Miss Anna came in. She talked to us, told us queer stories and anecdotes, played on the piano, and, in short, did everything she could to please and amuse us. Emily and I danced together while she played on the piano, and, though we made some mistakes, we enjoyed it highly. When Miss Belinda came into the room, she played beautifully on the piano, and sang. Many of the pieces were Mozart's, and were exquisite. She plays very well indeed, and is one of the best players of our acquaintance. Mr. Randall came in from out-doors a little while before tea, and took us up in his study, where he showed us several beautiful engravings. After supper he played on the piano, and accompanied the music with the most beautiful whistle I ever heard. Miss Belinda played while we danced, and we got into
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