[Boston—Sunday, 22 September 1867]
Sunday Sep 23 [sic]. 1867. We have been at home one week last night. Both last Sunday morning and this it has been my privilege and pleasure to arrange the flowers in the church. Monday I engaged a cook. Tuesday began to set my house in order with my good-natured Irish Marcella to assist. Wednesday we went to Milton according to appointment to pass the night with Mrs Nat. Silsbee, as noble a woman as I know. Thursday house-ordering again. Friday gardening, Saturday passed the afternoon in the garden of Mr Francis Parkman, historian and gardener. He is a great invalid and obliged to carry a small stool about in his hand; when he wishes to talk of certain flowers he seats himself before them thus saving himself much nervous fatigue. His history of the Jesuits & of Pontiac etc.—give him a high place in literature. Good judge speak of his style as unexceptionable.
We called also at William Greene’s. Mrs Greene asked me into her bed-room where she lies upon the bed every day after two o’clock. She has been a very beautiful woman and is still interesting. Her daughter Bessie a most intellectual young girl entertained me with her wit and lively talk. Mrs G. & I talked house-keeping, reprobating the indolence of American house-keeping as compared with French or English.
The son of Rufus Griswold breakfasted with us Thursday. He is scarcely more than 14 years but seems to have what is contained in books at his fingers’ end; beside being a modest wide awake boy. We were much pleased with him. This is just the season when J. has a troop of interesting people coming to see him. Unfortunately my memory is too much at fault when I sit down to write or I should re-produce the figures he brings so delightfully before me at the end of every day.
Edmund Quincy has just completed the life of his father and frequently comes in with pleasant letters and anecdotes. Mrs Frank Shaw has just written him a beautiful letter, having seen a mention of her martyrdom in the new volume.
