[Boston—Monday, 4 March 1867]
Monday. Snowy, rainy, chilly yet with a suspicion of spring somewhere. Read Hartley on Man—Virgil’s lovely description of Eneas on his visit to the city of Evandrus but feeling very little like writing, or any close occupation, finally went out—the walk was a refreshment—not what a walk should be a refreshment & stimulus to thought as well because I went first to the Athenæum for books and afterward to see J. & to Lissie’s studio. My dear boy walked round the common with me home. It came up a-propos to a remark of Mr Choate’s that “——— was a bull-dog with confused ideas” wh J. thought applied well to the uniform appearance of Ames the painter. He had passed an hour with Longfellow in Cambridge this morning. He wished to have his own Dante sonnets out of the preface to the translation but J. happily will not consent.
All this was lovely and a great comfort to have the distraction (as the French say) and companionship but—if I had earned it! If I had done anything first! Alas!
“La joie de l’espirit en marque la force.”
