[Boston—Sunday, 5 November 1865]
Sunday Nov. 5. A day of rare beauty after rain—soft wind and full, high clouds. We walked in the country all the morning watching the perfect brown of the leaves against the exquisite blue of the sky & white clouds. The draw was up in the old wooden bridge between Longwood & Cambridge and we sat on the bridge and strolled about nearly an hour watching the clumsy mariners draw two old schooners through against the wind. How beautiful it was.
A gusty shower fell just as we returned home.
Reading Eugénie de Guérin. The quiet picture of her life gives so much pleasure beside the exquisite devotion to her brother which is the first object of her diary that a journal, provided it be true, seems worth while; the nearer and more interior, the more interesting to me I believe.
We had a healthy happy day; without much church going to be sure. We had intended to go in the afternoon but were too weary. Jamie went to see his brother just at dark and afterward we went to tea at Louisa’s & then to Julia’s.
I know the rest did Jamie good.
I have omitted an account of a night and day from Mrs Hawthorne and Rose last week. She said she would like to stay over Sunday; but I knew that would imply many more hours broken in upon by talk and as Jamie needed rest and it was not essential for Mrs Hawthorne to stay I pleaded engagements, as indeed Louisa expected us especially at night (Mr Beal being away) and there were two or three visits which it was our duty to make and which we accomplished. Our walk too was a duty because Jamie cannot work continuously without fresh air. I was glad I found courage to speak out, it was more just both to herself and ourselves.
Went to see Mrs Chapman, a woman who in her full age (approaching sixty) is beautiful. She is a magnificent specimen of health and her children are beautiful.
She talked proudly of our people meaning the colored folk. She was one of the pioneers for their redemption when to espouse their cause was to be among the despised and rejected ones. A bust of herself by Edmonia Lewis stood upon the mantel. Also one of Colonel Shaw on the table.
She told me an anecdote relating to our people which she knew to be true. A friend in New Bedford has a colored cook who cooks well & does well otherwise but whose manners are insufferable. One day the lady said to her, “Don’t speak so, I don’t like your manners”! “Well!” was the reply “don’t I cook to suit ye?” “Oh yes, you cook very well.” “Don’t I do my work to suit ye?” “O yes you do your work very neatly.” “Well, missus, den spose you don’t say nothin’ ’bout de manners. We’se de fashion now”!!!
Her argument was unanswerable certainly. Mr Whittier was in town talking over his “Winter Idyl, Snow Bound.” He was amused and shocked to see the mistakes in versification and otherwise which Jamie pointed out to him. He would not pass the night but hurried off home, partly to vote (although he could have returned in season for that this morning) but chiefly I think to correct his poem as soon as possible.
The weather has become quite cold and windy, beautiful in the morning, but apt to be blustering before afternoon. I think the water springs must be filled now.
Mrs Chapman thinks highly of the writings of two young frenchmen Erckmann-Chatrian and has lent me one of their stories to read, also one of her sons, Mr Laugel’s books—Problèmes de la Nature.
Jamie is deep in affairs. He is about to start a weekly journal called “Every Saturday”—he will then have a quarterly, a monthly, a weekly, and a juvenile. If there is no crises from a too sudden contraction of the currency, he will weather this squally season well.
