[Boston—Thursday, 20 September 1866]
Thursday. We are having a long easterly storm. With short intermission on Monday (which the maids considered a special interposition I suppose in favor of washing) it has stormed—if a quiet rain can be called such with the winds blowing from the east—all the week Tuesday evening the air was soft and mild as indeed it has been almost all the time; we walked down town together to Dr Lewis’s gymnastic exhibition of the graduating class. That man is truly a reformer. What health these young girls showed! Why, I could pick out his scholars quite easily from among the audience. Afterward we went to the Horticulture exhibition. It was like wandering in some enchanted palace. The Germania band was discoursing elegant music while we lingered among the brilliant gladioli or the strange Indian and eastern plants. Among them I observed the Agavé of the poets also palms and ferns and many other strangers in almost endless variety.
Yesterday at home with sewing-woman until lunch when Louisa’s children came. Then a few hours of quiet reading (some of Chaucer which turned out coarse enough today, we have indeed lived a space since then) until near dinner when Mr Longfellow came. He looked sad but talked with good cheer. He is glad to return from Nahant to Cambridge. Why don’t you come to Nahant, he said. To tell the truth I prefer Manchester, I like to live out of doors.
“O you have never stayed at Nahant, you can live out-of-doors there as much as you choose but perhaps you don’t like unmitigated sea.” He proceeded to describe some of the people who came to call while there—one man, a stranger, came with an omnibus full of ladies. He descended, introduced himself, then returning to the omnibus took out all the ladies, “one, two, three, four, five, and a little girl” and brought them in.
“I entertained them to the best of my ability and they stayed an hour. They had scarcely gone when a forlorn woman in black came up and asked for a “dipper” of water. “Certainly” I replied and went to fetch her a glass of water. When I brought it she said, “There is another woman just by the fence there who is tired and thirsty I will carry this to her” as indeed then I perceived a second forlorn by the hedge. As the poor woman went through the window she struck her head and spilled the water in the piazza outside. “Oh! what have I done she said, if I had a floor-cloth I would wipe it up.” Have you not hurt you? was the kind reply it is no matter about the water. So she was comforted and both were refreshed & sent on their way rejoicing.
Today the rain continues. Went out however and “loafed” about town, seeing pictures, buying things which must be bought to wear by and by and dropping in to see Mistress Lillian,—Richards is a fine artist. People are creeping back to town—maids are busy pushing up windows, dusting, taking off covers, and slopping about in the wet streets hoping for “good places.” Shops almost empty yet—read somewhat during the day but miss the open air life of Manchester, and feel disinclined for doing much. Jamie wishes me to translate a portion of Victor Hugo’s Les Travailleurs de la Mer for his next book of selections and portraits like “Good Company.” I will try but I don’t think much of amateur translations especially when they live so entirely out of French atmosphere as I do.
