[Boston—Monday, 27 May 1872]
Monday May 27. 1872. Celia Thaxter came in, on the wings of a glorious Spring morning. She brought one short poem with her, also an unfinished ballad. Before beginning to read the last she told me in a natural way enough but with very great fervor of the squall which the ballad records in which her brother and husband came as near to Death as they ever can till they are actually carried to the other shore. She said Mr. Thaxter had never wished to get into a boat since. Her whole description, as she spoke of watching the wind lift the boat out of their vision and set it down on the rocks at her side high & dry, was one of the most breathless and impressive relations of which human speech is capable. I could hardly judge of the ballad after her story—but I thought it very fine, inasmuch as it really lost nothing, but rather gained after the previous telling, the epithets being all quite natural as well as forcible.
Mrs Lang, the musician’s wife came in afternoon. She told me the story of her husband’s sister, her unfortunate marriage. She has a beautiful voice & is a fine singer, but the repression of her life makes her singing reserved and at times even artificial, which spoils all.
Samuel Longfellow came in later for a few minutes but I was on my way out so our interview was a short one.
In the evening Jamie went to see the new actor Raymond who owes much of his good fortune to my dear boy who wrote of him in the paper.
Miss Tilden came to see me and talked over her school—the school for advanced classes and the only real foundation for a college, though she does not like it spoken of as anything more than a more perfect preparation for society & life. She stayed until 11 o’clock.
