[Boston—Sunday, 15 September 1867]

Sunday the 15th of Sep. our first day at home. The sky and air are perfect. I sit overlooking our garden with the western sun pouring in—ah! there is no place much better.

Mr Emerson preached today on immortality. His words glowed in us like the seeds of immortal fire. He said things wh. can never be re-produced save in the life of the hearer. And yet I love to recall his words, such as, “almost all men are insolvent; their youth is a promise of what they never fulfil, all their work is unsatisfactory only a hint they think of what it should be.”

There was a symmetry in the discourse such as one seldom gets from his spoken speeches.

Jamie sees so many interesting people that I often long to write down touches of character which he brings home to me in a perfectly fresh way, but I frequently long in vain because the moment does not come when it is either fitting or possible for me to do so.

Last Friday ev'g he gave me an account of his interview with Orestes Bro[w]nson who is now an old man of seventy. After studying theology in many different directions and espousing many branches as the true religion until the stigma of frivolity was cast upon him, when he was only driven on by the action of his mind, he has at length become a devout Romanist. He has been selected by Admiral Dahlgren and his wife as the person to edit the life of their son the heroic Ulric Dahlgren. They had themselves prepared the book but being entirely ignorant of literature as an art, the book is too imperfect to print in its present condition. After talking a while upon the subject Mr Bro[w]nson said, the Dahlgren’s suffering was not exceptional, he had himself lost one son in the war and another was maimed for life. He said his mother had only lately died at the age of 90. In the year 1861, her health being already enfeebled, she called her son one day to her bedside and said, “What is this I hear Orestes, what is the trouble at the South?” “They are trying to destroy the Union mother, and there must be a great war.” “Well, my son, what are you going to do about it?” “What can one man do mother?” “Do! Why you must go to the war you and your sons”!

The poor woman lost 8 grandsons in the war, six died, two deserted. The suffering caused her by the last two was greater than that of the death of the others, she said at the last.

She was born on the day of Washington’s thanksgiving after the Revolutionary War and she said she thought she should live to see Lincoln’s thanksgiving and so she did, but she died the following week!

Sunday morning Dr Holmes came in and read J. the introduction to his story. He was brilliant as ever. I lost the visit being at church arranging flowers.

In the evening we went to Mr Bartol’s to meet Mr Emerson. Dr Jackson was also there, who told several amusing stories connected with his experience as a practical chemist. One day, he said, a young man brought a specimen of iron pyrites to him and after shutting the doors mysteriously asked him if these was not gold. “No” said Dr J. “that’s not gold”—“No! why it looks just like gold, are you sure t’aint gold.” “I am perfectly sure.” Seeing however that he was unconvinced the Dr took a mallet and ground it to powder. “There now you see it is not gold, gold would press flat you could not make powder of it.” The young man took it to the window and thought it looked very much like gold. “Still unpersuaded?” said the Dr. “Look here” he thrust a shovel into the fire heated it red hot and put the powder upon it. At once the sulpher [sic] was evolved. What does it smell like now? thrusting it under the nose of the unbeliever. “Like hell!” then seizing a magnet. “Look again” at once all the iron adhered to the magnet and left nothing at all on the shovel—where is your gold now!!

The poor man went away discomforted indeed.

Mr Emerson thought there was much talent evident in Matthew Arnold’s book of poems but no genius. “Jason” he was however inclined to praise. Mrs E. was present and talked more than he did. We are always sorry to have this happen. His blue eyes beamed kindly upon us however and it was a real refreshment to be near him.


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