kind invitation to do so from Emerson and his wife, and in order that I may see more of this sphinx-like individual.
From the worshipper of nature, Emerson,—who does not belong to any church, and who will not permit his children to be baptised, because he considers the nature of a child purer than is commonly that of a full-grown sinful man;—we went to sleep at the house of a stern old Puritan, where we had long prayers, kneeling with our faces to the wall. Elizabeth H., the only daughter of the family, is still beautiful, although no longer young, and a very noble and agreeable woman. She was engaged to be married to Emerson's best beloved brother, and, after his death, declined all other matrimonial offers. She is evidently a noble creature, gifted with fine and estimable qualities, and her friendship for Waldo Emerson seems to me something very pure and perfect. I also hope to see her again in the course of the winter.
It looked like a true Swedish winter morning, in the pretty little Idylian city of Concord. Miss H. went out with me, and we visited the monument erected over the first victim who fell in the American War of Independence, for here he fell when the first bloody contest occurred. It was now nearly snowed up, and ice and snow covered also the little river which beautifies the city, and which was called by the Indians, Musketaquid, “the Grassy River.” Emerson has given that name to one of the freshest and sweetest of his poems. Wandering in that pure winter atmosphere, beneath trees covered with glittering snow, and by the side of Elizabeth H., whose atmosphere is to me as inspiriting as the pure sunny air, made me cheerful—both soul and body. On we rambled, we met Bergfalk, who came quite warm in heart and joyful from a ladies' school in the city, where he had heard the young girls solve mathematical problems, which he had been requested to give them,—and solve them easily
