[Boston—Sunday, 26 May 1867]

Sunday May 26—have been reading Emile par J.J. Rousseau. Surely, Le jeu ne vaut pas la chandelle. It seems to me one of the books we have lived past and left justly to the swiftly cumulative chest which sprinkles the volumes in the Athenæum Library. There is a kind of dishonesty in the book with all the grand show of truth, especially where he degrades his office as a writer, when at the same time it is impossible not to see that great care has been expended in literary studies which would fit him to write a book so full of reference and illustration apart from the mere thoughts which would not allow him the privilege of silence.

Jamie came home unexpectedly and joyfully Wed. night, Thursday he was away down town all day. Mr Routledge being here from England to whom he desired to pay some attention. Friday—family tea-party—we sat down nine at table—mother & Sarah passed the night. Saturday, passed the morning hours in the garden, the afternoon with a sewing woman. In the evening went to benefit concert for the doorkeeper at the music hall where Miss Kellogg and Miss Phillips sang and a wonderful flutist Heindle played.

It was J’s club afternoon. He enjoyed it especially though he left early. Longfellow & Emerson & Holmes & Lowell were there & J. carried Judge Russell as his guest. He was more tired than usual so I heard less of the talk which turned much as ordinarily of course on art & literature.


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