[Boston—Thursday, 12 March 1868]

Thursday morning—cold again, ground frozen. In search of a laundress. I think I found too much fault with ours though she was sometimes very careless nevertheless I would have kept her and said less if I had not thought she would take my reprimands kindly and improve under them; instead of which as is so frequently the case she has gone away and given me the trouble of finding another who may be worse. Passed last evening quietly at home.

Three afternoons french lessons, sittings at studio to E.B.G. spring sewing under way in preparation for our flight the 1st of April with dear C.D. These make the days fly.

Giusippe Sanbonaro was the name of Carlovero

J. and I sat talking last evening about Dickens. He says the moment he is removed from the man he is overwhelmed by the thought of his great genius; fortunately while he is with him and their relations are simple and manly he does not think of it but afterward and now continually he reflects upon the many sided intellect and the large heart and the noble spirit we call Charles Dickens and wonders that America does not rise to do him honor. It certainly shows a great lack of the noble spirit of worship that more feeling does not come out—there is a good deal felt but there should be, in spite of his retirement a certain general expression which he could not fail to appreciate.


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