Your sweet self-reprehension makes us look within, which is so wild a place we are soon dismayed, but the seed sown in the lake bears the liquid flower, and so of all your words.
I am glad you accept rest.
Too many disdain it. I am glad you go to the Adirondacks.
To me the name is homelike, for one of my lost went every year with an Indian guide, before the woods were broken. Had you been here it would be sweet, but that, like the peach, is later. With a tommorow in its cupboard, who would be "an hungered"? Thank you for thinking of Dick. He is now the horse of association.
Men are picking the grass from father's meadow to lay it away for winter, and it takes them a long time. They bring three horses of their own, but Dick, ever gallant, offers to help, and bears a little machine like a top, which spins the grass away.
It seems very much like a gentleman getting his own supper -- for what is his supper winter nights but tumblers of clover?
You speak of "disillusion." That is one of the few subjects on which I am an infidel. Life is so strong a vision, not one of it shall fail.
Not what the stars have done, but what they are to do, is what detains the sky.
We shall watch for the promised words from the Adirondacks, and hope the recess will be all joy. To have been made alive is so chief a thing, all else inevitably adds. Were it not riddled by partings, it were too divine.
I was never certain that mother had died, except while the students were singing. The voices came from another life....
Good-night, dear. Excuse me for staying so long. I love to come to you. To one who creates, or consoles, thought, what an obligation!