[Manchester—Monday, 27 August 1866]
Monday. Perfect day at noon. Miss Greene, Lissie, Miss Mary & J.T.F. went to town—the latter dined at Nahant. Uneventful day at home certainly, but full of enjoyment. Letters at night from Mrs Stowe, Gail Hamilton, Laura, Mother and news that Miss Whitney has done an exquisite work at last in sculpture. How I rejoice in any woman’s success. Hard as it is for any body to do anything well, the difficulty is heightened for women. They are hampered somehow by their very petticoats—by the very preciousness of their womanhood.
A soft air and mighty moon at night. Read a few lines of Chaucer but devoted the afternoon to Mrs Bartol who was alone.
How the curlews screamed as we sat on the rocks! The afternoon was chilly, “mare’s tails” flying across the blue face of heaven. Mr Bartol brought in a burden of maple leaves brilliant with the touch of autumn.
