[Boston—Saturday, 22 September 1866]

Saturday. Wind north west brisk and cool enough. Ran down town with errands—read a little Virgil and am more impressed than ever with the beauty of his lines, the rhythmic tread of his verse.

In the afternoon we drove out to see Mrs Lowell Putnam and her daughter. We were most graciously and affectionally welcome. Miss Georgy was in her garden gathering flowers for the church tomorrow. She constructs evergreen baskets and fills them with flowers that people may carry away after service. We sat nearly half an hour. Mrs Putnam talked of Rowse whom she places highest among us as a portrait painter or limner for he paints seldom, of a new book by one Moore making the old laws first made in Mass. with regard to slavery a matter of reproach instead of a glory as they really are. Her grandfather helped to distance slavery from Mass. forever; at that time, he was one of the preservers of the old English law which made it impossible to exist here and she can remember her father telling her how a small black boy who sold pies and apples to the school used to pick out the largest for him because his father had prevented slavery from finding foothold in Massachusetts. The vile book therefore made her justly indignant.

She spoke of Marshall’s success as an engraver with great pleasure and subscribed for his fine head of Lincoln which is the finest portrait of our great martyr and a magnificent thing of itself as an engraving. While we talked Miss Putnam came in like a priestess bearing wonderful flowers—but these it appeared were for us.

Their place is beautiful—full of fine old trees many of them hundreds of years—a part of the ancient forest. There is an oak tree just outside the gate clinging to their bank as if for protection against the ravages of “improvements” (!!) which a very aged woman who lives near by tells her looked the same one hundred years ago as it does now. Possibly that tree is many hundreds of years old.

Miss Putnam was much pleased with a photographic copy of Mr Hawthorne’s portrait which we carried there. As [she] stood in the doorway where the light fell upon her as she examined it she made a lovely picture herself. Her cheeks were glowing, her warm cream-white jacket was half opened at her throat, her hair black as a raven’s wing flowed somewhat loosened and in her eyes a lovely light of kindliness. Leaving them at last with the carriage blossoming with our flowery burden we drove to Colonel William Greene’s. Miss Bessie was on the door-step just about to carry two young friends to the cars. One of them was a beautiful young woman with auburn hair which floated out spray-like with a shadowy veil thrown over veil and hat making her beauty only more apparent. Mr & Mrs Greene were not well & she was lying down. We would not allow the servants to disturb them and so drove away. The night was wonderful—the sun fairly transmuted things to pure gold—then the moon came to give a silver sheen to the east. When we reached home we found Mr Bartol on the steps and Venus in the west!!

Our garden is getting into order. Mr Perkins has made me two or three long calls today, finding 50 dollars too much for three to pay for getting the whole laid down in grass he has passed full 24 hours of good time getting the work done cheaper. Ours is the benefit so I have cause to thank him—beside it has given me opportunity to study this queer man—one of a class I fear but there is a kind of dull kindliness about him which his money getting has not altogether extinguished. He feels kindly towards us I am sure and this should content us but how strange it is that we will not be grateful for the regard we ourselves receive but ask that it shall come out of a large fountain where many may drink.

Jamie had a long call of an hour from Judge (chief justice) Bigelow today. From being a strong conservative he has become a fierce radical. These things make us reflect now that the world are kicking and buffeting Mr Beecher who out of pure faith in human nature has found himself left in the lurch on the wrong side of the fence with a party whose fundamental principles he holds in abhorrence.

William Everett is anxious to be on friendly terms. He is devoted his days and nights to knowledge. J. says he is “shockingly learned.”


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