class. It is clear to me that there is here an aristocracy forming itself by degrees which is much higher than that of birth, property, or position in society; it is really the aristocracy of merit, of amiability, and of character. But it is not yet general. It is merely as yet a little handful. But it grows, and the feeling on the subject grows also.
I have been to a charming little dinner at Professor How's, where I met Laura Bridgeman. She is now twenty; has a good, well-developed figure, and a countenance which may be called pretty. She wears a green bandage over her eyes. When she took my hand, she made a sign that she regarded me to be a child. One of the first questions which she asked me was, “How much money I got for my books?” A regular Yankee question, which greatly delighted my companions, who, nevertheless, prevented its being pressed any further. I asked Laura, through the lady who always attends her, if she were happy? She replied with vivacity, and an attempt at a sound which proved that she could not sufficiently express how happy she was. She appears indeed to be almost always gay and happy; the unceasing kindness and attention of which she is the object, prevents her from having any mistrust of mankind, and enables her to live a life of affection and confidence. Dr. How, one of those dark figures whom Alcott would regard as offspring of the night; that is to say, with dark complexion, dark eyes, black hair, and a splendid energetic countenance, but with a sallow complexion; is universally known for his ardent human love, which induced him to fight for the freedom of the Greeks and Poles, and finally to devote himself to those whose physical senses are in bonds. His acquaintance is valuable to me, for his own sake, though I shall not be able to enjoy much of his society. He appears, like me, to suffer from the climate and from the over-exciting nature of the food of the country. His wife is a most
