[Boston—Wednesday, 13 May 1868]
May 13th Cold east wind blowing all the morning which ripened into a delicious rainy afternoon. The vessels lay off in the bay and it was quiet enough to hear the Spring rain down among the clover. Read Owen Meredith’s two new volumes of poems and enjoyed the idle quiet for it is that delicious idleness which creeps over the spirit in an old garden among hollyhocks and lilies when autumn lingers late—it is like this to wander among such fields of poetry as he has given us—for the first time I feel like giving him a crown.
Last night Mr. Trollope & the Quincys dined here. I think they all had a good time. I respect Mr. Trollope’s probity—when he said, describing a disgusting scene he once saw of two lovely girls 18 & 20 years of age sitting in Hume’s (the medium’s) lap and kissing him as if he were a god—“I could not help thinking though I was only an old kind of a chap myself it would be better for them if they kissed me.” I agreed with him perfectly and respected him for his feeling and the honest simplicity of the expression.
I am much bothered by thoughts and plans for a Freedmen’s Fair.
