[Boston—Tuesday, 2 January 1866]
Jan. 2d 1866. Yesterday was a dull raining day in Boston but pleasant things happened, cheery and kindly things as they always will on New Year’s Day as if to assure us that the solemn tolling of the passing bell of the year should not mean tears altogether for us but love and immortal joys beside.
I made ready for our departure for New York whither we have come today with little Mrs Aldrich who goes to comfort her mother and so we tried to comfort her and make her journey pleasant. Came to the Brevoort House where while Jamie was down at dinner flowers were brought to the door which I could not resist for the seller was a widow whose son had been in the army—how Jamie’s eyes sparkled when he came back and I showed him my purchase—you must have them of her every day, he said.
He has gone to the “Wanderers Club” tonight in Bierstadt’s studio in Tenth St.
What a strange full life this is for us. So many pleasant friends! Will the solitary days be as rich for us when this is over. I love them best and yet I love my friends too, but not when the gay hours come in between the whispers of God and my lonely spirit. Heaven keep us both from this.
The new weekly “Every Saturday” appears this week for the first time. We cannot help laughing over the young editors’ excitement—his & his wife’s. She says for the last week he has locked an advance copy up in her work box every time they went to dinner lest some one should come in in their absence and catch a peep at it.
We received a pleasant letter from Mrs Agassiz last night and I could not fail to see what an able woman she is. It was written from the valley of the Amazon, but wherever they may be she keeps a journal of their progress which will by & by be published. She has studied in her husband’s steps ever since her marriage and will be able to record something of his scientific researches enough to make the journal something more than a woman’s narrative of travel although that alone could not fail to be interesting of such a trip as theirs has been through South America—a triumphal progress for science.
The quiet of this little shabby corner of a great hotel is delightful tonight while the world is surging by outside. One feels like such an atom an unforgotten atom in the Great Plan, much as one does on the sea-shore or barren waste alone. I have read through Dickens wonderful Christmas story Dr Marigold’s Prescriptions—his talent for using other people is as conspicuous in these combined structures as his talent for using himself.
