[Boston—Wednesday, 27 February 1867]

Wednesday Feb. 27. Mr Longfellow’s birthday.

I dont wish to forget a passage from Mr Bartol’s sermon last Sunday. He was speaking of Theodore Parker. His sensitiveness he said was like Hector’s plume nodding to every breeze above Hector’s spear.

Yesterday Celia Thaxter and Mrs Marquand came to see me. Celia said, the rustle of a petticoat did her good. When she sat down to table, she found herself between long vistas of men (her husband, 3 sons, and a youth, hungarian of 15 years). She considers she has adopted the young Hungarian who she says, “is a lovely youth, with bright brown hair and forehead like a star.” She has been to see Mr Whittier lately and carried him a little rose hidden in her dress. It was perfectly fresh when she arrived in spite of the cold outside. This visit has seemed like a kind of inspiration to her.

Mr Lowell’s poem to Longfellow which came by this morning’s journal is perfect. I sent the dear poet some flowers.

Osgood sails & J. goes to the ship to see him away.

A letter today from Willson’s brother.


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