I met a King this afternoon!
He had not on a Crown indeed,
A little Palmleaf Hat was all,
And he was barefoot, I’m afraid!
But sure I am he Ermine wore
Beneath his faded Jacket’s blue —
And sure I am, the crest he bore
Within that Jacket’s pocket too!
For ‘twas too stately for an Earl —
A Marquis would not go so grand!
’Twas possibly a Czar petite —
A Pope, or something of that kind!
If I must tell you, of a Horse
My freckled Monarch held the rein —
Doubtless an estimable Beast,
But not at all disposed to run!
And such a wagon! While I live
Dare I presume to see
Another such a vehicle
As then transported me!
Two other ragged Princes
His royal state partook!
Doubtless the first excursion
These sovereigns ever took!
I question if the Royal Coach
174
Round which the Footmen wait
Has the significance, on high,
Of this Barefoot Estate!
Ho incontrato un Re questo pomeriggio!
Non aveva una Corona, invero,
Un piccolo Cappello di Palma era tutto,
Ed era scalzo, temo!
Ma certa sono che Ermellino portava
Sotto il blu della sua Giacca stinta —
E certa sono, che il cimiero recava
Anche in tasca di quella Giacca!
Ché troppo maestoso era per un Conte —
Un Marchese non andrebbe sì grandioso!
Era forse uno Zar minuto —
Un Papa, o qualcosa di tal genere!
Se devo dirvelo, d’un Cavallo
Il mio Monarca lentigginoso teneva le redini —
Senza dubbio una Bestia stimabile,
Ma per nulla disposta a correre!
E che carro! Finché vivo
Oserò presumere di vedere
Un altro veicolo simile
A quello che allora mi trasportò!
Due altri Principi cenciosi
Del suo stato regale partecipavano!
Senza dubbio la prima escursione
Che questi sovrani mai fecero!
Mi chiedo se la Regale Carrozza
174
Attorno a cui i Valletti attendono
Abbia il significato, lassù,
Di questo Scalzo Regno!
A Burdock — clawed my Gown —
Not Burdock’s — blame —
But mine —
Who went too near
The Burdock’s Den —
A Bog — affronts my shoe —
What else have Bogs — to do —
The only Trade they know —
The splashing Men!
Ah, pity — then!
‘Tis Minnows can despise!
The Elephant’s — calm eyes
Look further on!
Una Bardana — mi artigliò la Veste —
Non della Bardana — la colpa —
Ma mia —
Che andai troppo vicino
Alla Tana della Bardana —
Un Pantano — oltraggia la mia scarpa —
Che altro hanno i Pantani — da fare —
L’unico Mestiere che sanno —
Inzaccherare gli Uomini!
Ah, pietà — allora!
Sono i Pesciolini a poter disprezzare!
Dell’Elefante — gli occhi calmi
Guardano più lontano!
What Soft — Cherubic Creatures —
These Gentlewomen are —
One would as soon assault a Plush —
Or violate a Star —
Such Dimity Convictions —
A Horror so refined
Of freckled Human Nature —
Of Deity — ashamed —
It’s such a common — Glory —
A Fisherman’s — Degree —
Redemption — Brittle Lady —
Be so — ashamed of Thee —
Che Soffici — Cherubiche Creature —
Sono queste Gentildonne —
Si assalirebbe prima un Velluto —
O si violerebbe una Stella —
Convinzioni di Mussolina —
Un Orrore così raffinato
Della lentigginosa Natura Umana —
Della Divinità — vergognose —
È una così comune — Gloria —
Un Grado — da Pescatore —
La Redenzione — Fragile Signora —
Sia così — vergognosa di Te —
Undue Significance a starving man attaches
To Food —
Far off — He sighs — and therefore — Hopeless —
And therefore — Good —
Partaken — it relieves — indeed —
But proves us
That Spices fly
In the Receipt — It was the Distance —
Was Savory —
Indebita Importanza un uomo affamato attribuisce
Al Cibo —
Da lontano — Egli sospira — e perciò — Senza Speranza —
E perciò — Buono —
Consumato — dà sollievo — davvero —
Ma ci dimostra
Che le Spezie svaniscono
Nella Ricetta — Era la Distanza —
Ad esser Saporita —
Size circumscribes — it has no room
For petty furniture —
The Giant tolerates no Gnat
For Ease of Gianture —
Repudiates it, all the more —
Because intrinsic size
Ignores the possibility
Of Calumnies — or Flies.
La Grandezza circoscrive — non ha spazio
Per mobili meschini —
Il Gigante non tollera Moscerino
Per Agio di Gigantezza —
Lo ripudia, tanto più —
Perché la grandezza intrinseca
Ignora la possibilità
Di Calunnie — o Mosche.
The Zeroes — taught us — Phosphorous —
We learned to like the Fire
By playing Glaciers — when a Boy —
And Tinder — guessed — by power
Of Opposite — to balance Odd —
If White — a Red — must be!
Paralysis — our Primer — dumb —
Unto Vitality!
Gli Zeri — ci insegnarono — il Fosforo —
Imparammo ad amare il Fuoco
Giocando ai Ghiacciai — da Ragazzi —
E l’Esca — indovinata — per potere
D’Opposto — a bilanciare il Dispari —
Se Bianco — un Rosso — dev’esserci!
Paralisi — il nostro Sillabario — muto —
Verso la Vitalità!
None can experience stint
Who Bounty — have not known —
The fact of Famine — could not be
Except for Fact of Corn —
Want — is a meagre Art
Acquired by Reverse —
The Poverty that was not Wealth —
Cannot be Indigence.
Nessuno può provare stento
Se l’Abbondanza — non ha conosciuto —
Il fatto della Carestia — non si darebbe
Se non per il Fatto del Grano —
Il Bisogno — è un’Arte magra
Acquisita per Rovescio —
La Povertà che non fu Ricchezza —
Non può essere Indigenza.
Deprived of other Banquet,
I entertained Myself —
At first — a scant nutrition —
An insufficient Loaf —
But grown by slender addings
To so esteemed a size
’Tis sumptuous enough for me —
And almost to suffice
A Robin’s famine able —
Red Pilgrim, He and I —
A Berry from our table
Reserve — for charity —
Privata d’altro Banchetto,
Intrattenni Me stessa —
Dapprima — scarso nutrimento —
Un Pane insufficiente —
Ma cresciuto per esili aggiunte
A misura così stimata
Che è abbastanza sontuoso per me —
E quasi da bastare
Alla fame d’un Pettirosso —
Rosso Pellegrino, Lui ed io —
Una Bacca della nostra tavola
Riserviamo — per carità —
The Service without Hope —
Is tenderest, I think —
Because ‘tis unsustained
By stint — Rewarded Work —
Has impetus of Gain —
And impetus of Goal —
There is no Diligence like that
That knows not an Until —
Il Servizio senza Speranza —
È il più tenero, credo —
Perché non è sorretto
Da misura — il Lavoro Ricompensato —
Ha impeto di Guadagno —
E impeto di Meta —
Non c’è Diligenza come quella
Che non conosce un Fino a quando —
God gave a Loaf to every Bird —
But just a Crumb — to Me —
I dare not eat it — tho’ I starve —
My poignant luxury —
To own it — touch it —
Prove the feat — that made the Pellet mine —
Too happy — for my Sparrow’s chance —
For Ampler Coveting —
It might be Famine — all around —
I could not miss an Ear —
Such Plenty smiles upon my Board —
My Garner shows so fair —
I wonder how the Rich — may feel —
An Indiaman — An Earl —
I deem that I — with but a Crumb —
Am Sovereign of them all —
Dio diede una Pagnotta a ogni Uccello —
Ma solo una Briciola — a Me —
Non oso mangiarla — pur se muoio di fame —
Mio pungente lusso —
Possederla — toccarla —
Provare l’impresa — che fece mia la Pallina —
Troppo felice — per la mia sorte di Passero —
Per Brama più Ampia —
Potrebbe esserci Carestia — tutt’intorno —
Non sentirei la mancanza d’una Spiga —
Tanta Abbondanza sorride alla mia Mensa —
Sì bello appare il mio Granaio —
Mi domando cosa provino i Ricchi —
Un Mercante delle Indie — un Conte —
Ritengo che Io — con una sola Briciola —
Sia Sovrana di tutti loro —
Who Giants know, with lesser Men
Are incomplete, and shy —
For Greatness, that is ill at ease
In minor Company —
A Smaller, could not be perturbed —
The Summer Gnat displays —
Unconscious that his single Fleet
Do not comprise the skies —
Chi conosce Giganti, con Uomini minori
È incompleto, e schivo —
Perché la Grandezza, è a disagio
In minore Compagnia —
Un Più Piccolo, non potrebbe turbarsi —
Il Moscerino d’Estate lo mostra —
Inconsapevole che la sua unica Flotta
Non comprende i cieli —
Despair’s advantage is achieved
By suffering — Despair —
To be assisted of Reverse
One must Reverse have bore —
The Worthiness of Suffering like
The Worthiness of Death
Is ascertained by tasting —
As can no other Mouth
Of Savors — make us conscious —
As did ourselves partake —
Affliction feels impalpable
Until Ourselves are struck —
Il vantaggio della Disperazione è conquistato
Dal soffrire — Disperazione —
Per essere assistiti dal Rovescio
Il Rovescio si deve aver patito —
La Dignità del Soffrire come
La Dignità della Morte
Si accerta assaggiando —
Come nessun’altra Bocca
Di Sapori — può farci consapevoli —
Come il nostro stesso assaggiare —
L’Afflizione pare impalpabile
Finché Noi stessi non siamo colpiti —
A Plated Life — diversified
With Gold and Silver Pain
To prove the presence of the Ore
In Particles — ‘tis when
A Value struggle — it exist —
A Power — will proclaim
Although Annihilation pile
Whole Chaoses on Him —
Una Vita Placcata — variegata
D’Oro e d’Argento Dolore
A provare la presenza del Minerale
In Particelle — è quando
Un Valore lotta — esso esiste —
Un Potere — proclamerà
Benché l’Annientamento ammassi
Interi Caos su di Lui —
Expectation — is Contentment —
Gain — Satiety —
But Satiety — Conviction
Of Necessity
Of an Austere trait in Pleasure —
Good, without alarm
Is a too established Fortune —
Danger — deepens Sum —
L’Attesa — è Appagamento —
Il Guadagno — Sazietà —
Ma la Sazietà — Convinzione
Della Necessità
D’un tratto Austero nel Piacere —
Il Bene, senza allarme
È una Fortuna troppo assestata —
Il Pericolo — approfondisce la Somma —
Impossibility, like Wine
Exhilarates the Man
Who tastes it; Possibility
Is flavorless — Combine
A Chance’s faintest Tincture
And in the former Dram
Enchantment makes ingredient
As certainly as Doom —
L’Impossibilità, come Vino
Esalta l’Uomo
Che la gusta; la Possibilità
È senza sapore — Unisci
D’un Caso la più tenue Tintura
E nel primo Sorso
L’Incanto si fa ingrediente
Certo quanto il Destino —
I made slow Riches but my Gain
Was steady as the Sun
And every Night, it numbered more
Than the preceding One
All Days, I did not earn the same
But my perceiveless Gain
Inferred the less by Growing than
The Sum that it had grown.
Feci lente Ricchezze ma il mio Guadagno
Fu costante come il Sole
E ogni Notte, contava di più
Che la Precedente
In tutti i Giorni, non guadagnai lo stesso
Ma il mio impercettibile Guadagno
Si deduceva meno dal Crescere che
Dalla Somma a cui era cresciuto.
I sing to use the Waiting
My Bonnet but to tie
And shut the Door unto my House
No more to do have I
Till His best step approaching
We journey to the Day
And tell each other how We sung
To Keep the Dark away.
Canto per usare l’Attesa
La mia Cuffia soltanto allacciare
E chiudere la Porta della mia Casa
Altro da fare non ho
Finché al Suo miglior passo che s’appressa
Noi si viaggi verso il Giorno
E ci diciamo l’un l’altra come cantammo
Per Tenere lontano il Buio.
Of Silken Speech and Specious Shoe
A Traitor is the Bee
His service to the newest Grace
Present continually
His Suit a chance
His Troth a Term
Protracted as the Breeze
Continual Ban propoundeth He
Continual Divorce.
Di Serica Parola e Speciosa Scarpa
Un Traditore è l’Ape
Il suo servigio alla Grazia più nuova
Presente di continuo
La sua Corte un caso
La sua Fede un Termine
Protratto quanto la Brezza
Continuo Bando propone Egli
Continuo Divorzio.
Experience is the Angled Road
Preferred against the Mind
By — Paradox — the Mind itself —
Presuming it to lead
Quite Opposite — How Complicate
The Discipline of Man —
Compelling Him to Choose Himself
His Preappointed Pain —
L’Esperienza è la Strada Angolata
Preferita contro la Mente
Per — Paradosso — dalla Mente stessa —
Presumendo che conduca
All’Opposto affatto — Com’è Complicata
La Disciplina dell’Uomo —
Che Lo costringe a Scegliersi da Sé
La Sua Pena Prestabilita —
He who in Himself believes —
Fraud cannot presume —
Faith is Constancy’s Result —
And assumes — from Home —
Cannot perish, though it fail
Every second time —
But defaced Vicariously —
For Some Other Shame —
Chi in Se stesso crede —
La Frode non può presumere —
La Fede è Risultato di Costanza —
E presume — da Casa —
Non può perire, benché fallisca
Ogni seconda volta —
Ma sfigurata per Procura —
Per la Vergogna di Qualcun Altro —
Not to discover weakness is
The Artifice of strength —
Impregnability inheres
As much through Consciousness
Of faith of others in itself
As Pyramidal Nerve
Behind the most unconscious clock
What skilful Pointers move —
Non scoprire debolezza è
L’Artificio della forza —
L’Inespugnabilità inerisce
Tanto per la Coscienza
Della fede degli altri in essa
Quanto per il Nervo Piramidale
Dietro il più inconsapevole orologio
Che abili Lancette muove —
To undertake is to achieve
Be Undertaking blent
With fortitude of obstacle
And toward encouragement
That fine Suspicion, Natures must
Permitted to revere
Departed Standards and the few
Criterion Sources here
Intraprendere è compiere
Sia l’Intraprendere fuso
Con fortitudine d’ostacolo
E verso incoraggiamento
Quel fine Sospetto, le Nature devono
Ammesse a riverire
Norme Dipartite e le poche
Fonti di Criterio qui
Revolution is the Pod
Systems rattle from
When the Winds of Will are stirred
Excellent is Bloom
But except its Russet Base
Every Summer be
The Entomber of itself,
So of Liberty —
Left inactive on the Stalk
All its Purple fled
Revolution shakes it for
Test if it be dead.
La Rivoluzione è il Baccello
Da cui crepitano i Sistemi
Quando i Venti del Volere si destano
Eccellente è la Fioritura
Ma se non fosse per la sua Base Rossiccia
Ogni Estate sarebbe
La Seppellitrice di se stessa,
Così della Libertà —
Lasciata inerte sullo Stelo
Fuggita tutta la sua Porpora
La Rivoluzione la scuote per
Provare se sia morta.
As old as Woe —
How old is that?
Some eighteen thousand years —
As old as Bliss
How old is that
They are of equal years
Together chiefest they ard found
But seldom side by side
From neither of them tho’ he try
Can Human nature hide
Antico quanto il Dolore —
Quanto è antico?
Circa diciottomila anni —
Antico quanto la Beatitudine
Quanto è antico
Sono di anni uguali
Insieme perlopiù si trovano
Ma di rado fianco a fianco
Da nessuno dei due, per quanto tenti
Può l’umana natura celarsi
HIM NARROW —
He preached upon “Breadth” till it argued him narrow —
The Broad are too broad to define
And of “Truth” until it proclaimed him a Liar —
The Truth never flaunted a Sign —
Simplicity fled from his counterfeit presence
As Gold the Pyrites would shun —
What confusion would cover the innocent Jesus
To meet so enabled a Man!
LUI ANGUSTO —
Predicò sull‘“Ampiezza” finché essa lo dichiarò angusto —
I Vasti son troppo vasti per definirli
E sulla “Verità” finché essa lo proclamò Bugiardo —
La Verità non ostentò mai un’Insegna —
La Semplicità fuggì dalla sua presenza contraffatta
Come l’Oro schiverebbe la Pirite —
Quale confusione coprirebbe l’innocente Gesù
Nell’incontrare un Uomo così dotato!
Who goes to dine must take his Feast
Or find the Banquet mean —
The Table is not laid without
Till it is laid within.
For Pattern is the Mind bestowed
That imitating her
Our most ignoble Services
Exhibit worthier.
Chi va a pranzo deve portare il suo Banchetto
O trovare misero il Convito —
La Tavola non è apparecchiata fuori
Finché non è apparecchiata dentro.
Ché a Modello è data la Mente
Perché imitandola
I nostri più ignobili Servigi
Si mostrino più degni.
The Popular Heart is a Cannon first —
Subsequent a Drum —
Bells for an Auxiliary
And an Afterward of Rum —
Not a Tomorrow to know its name
Nor a Past to stare —
Ditches for Realms and a Trip to Jail
For a Souvenir —
Il Cuore Popolare è un Cannone prima —
In seguito un Tamburo —
Campane per Ausilio
E un Poi di Rum —
Non un Domani che ne sappia il nome
Né un Passato che guardi fisso —
Fossi per Regni e una Gita in Prigione
Per Ricordo —
Hope is a strange invention —
A Patent of the Heart —
In unremitting action
Yet never wearing out —
Of this electric Adjunct
Not anything is known
But its unique momentum
Embellish all we own —
La Speranza è una strana invenzione —
Un Brevetto del Cuore —
In azione incessante
Eppure mai si consuma —
Di questa elettrica Aggiunta
Nulla è conosciuto
Se non l’unico suo slancio
Abbellisce quanto abbiamo —
Hope is a subtle Glutton —
He feeds upon the Fair —
And yet — inspected closely
What Abstinence is there —
His is the Halcyon Table —
That never seats but One —
And whatsoever is consumed
The same amount remain —
La Speranza è un sottile Ghiottone —
Si nutre del Bello —
Eppure — a ispezionarlo da vicino
Che Astinenza vi è —
Sua è la Tavola Alcionia —
Che non ospita mai che Uno —
E qualunque cosa sia consumata
La stessa quantità rimane —
The parasol is the umbrella’s daughter,
And associates with a fan
While her father abuts the tempest
And abridges the rain.
The former assists a siren
In her serene display;
But her father is borne and honored,
And borrowed to this day.
Il parasole è la figlia dell’ombrello,
E frequenta un ventaglio
Mentre suo padre affronta la tempesta
E abbrevia la pioggia.
La prima assiste una sirena
Nel suo sereno sfoggio;
Ma suo padre è portato e onorato,
E preso in prestito ancor oggi.
DEAR REMEMBERED,—The circumstances under which I write you this morning are at once glorious, afflicting, and benencial,—glorious in ends, afflicting in means, and beneficial, I trust, in both. Twin loaves of bread have just been born into the world under my auspices,—fine children, the image of their mother; and here, my dear friend, is the glory.
On the lounge, asleep, lies my sick mother, suffering intensely from acute neuralgia, except at a moment like this, when kind sleep draws near, and beguiles her,—here is the affliction.
I need not draw the beneficial inference,—the good I myself derive, the winning the spirit of patience, the genial housekeeping influence stealing over my mind and soul,—you know all these things I would say, and will seem to suppose they are written, when indeed they are only thought.
On Sunday my mother was taken, had been perfectly well before, and could remember no possible imprudence which should have induced the disease. Everything has been done, and though we think her gradually throwing it off, she still has much suffering. I have always neglected the culinary arts, but attend to them now from necessity, and from a desire to make everything pleasant for father and Austin. Sickness makes desolation, and the day is dark and dreary; but health will come back, I hope, and light hearts and smiling faces. We are sick hardly ever at home, and don’t know what to do when it comes,—wrinkle our little brows, and stamp with our little feet, and our tiny souls get angry, and command it to go away. Mrs. Brown will be glad to see it,—old ladies expect to die; “as for us, the young and active, with all longings ‘for the strife,’ we to perish by the roadside, weary with the ‘march of life’—no, no, my dear ‘Father Mortality,’ get out of the way if you please; we will call if we ever want you. Good-morning, sir! ah, good-morning!”
When I am not at work, I sit by the side of mother, provide for her little wants, and try to cheer and encourage her. I ought to be glad and grateful that I can do anything now, but I do feel so very lonely, and so anxious to have her cured. I haven’t repined but once, and you shall know all the why. At noon … I heard a well-known rap, and a friend I love so dearly came and asked me to ride in the woods, the sweet, still woods,—and I wanted to exceedingly. I told him I could not go, and he said he was disappointed, he wanted me very much. Then the tears came into my eyes, though I tried to choke them back, and he said I could and should go, and it seemed to me unjust. Oh, I struggled with great temptation, and it cost me much of denial; but I think in the end I conquered,—not a glorious victory, where you hear the rolling drum, but a kind of a helpless victory, where triumph would come of itself, faintest music, weary soldiers, nor a waving flag, nor a long, loud shout. I had read of Christ’s temptations, and how they were like our own, only he didn’t sin; I wondered if one was like mine, and whether it made him angry. I couldn’t make up my mind; do you think he ever did?
I went cheerfully round my work, humming a little air till mother had gone to sleep, then cried with all my might —seemed to think I was much abused—that this wicked world was unworthy such devoted and terrible suffering—and came to my various senses in great dudgeon at life, and time, and love for affliction and anguish.
What shall we do, my darling, when trial grows more and more, when the dim, lone light expires, and it’s dark, so very dark, and we wander, and know not where, and cannot get out of the forest—whose is the hand to help us, and to lead, and forever guide us; they talk of a “Jesus of Nazareth”—will you tell me if it be he? …
It’s Friday, my dear A., and that in another week, yet my mission is unfulfilled—and you so sadly neglected, and don’t know the reason why. Where do you think I’ve strayed, and from what new errand returned? I have come from “to and fro, and walking up and down” the same, place that Satan hailed from, when God asked him where he’d been; but not to illustrate further, I tell you I have been dreaming, dreaming a golden dream, with eyes all the while wide open, and I guess it’s almost morning; and besides, I have been at work, providing the “food that perisheth,” scaring the timorous dust, and being obedient and kind. I am yet the Queen of the Court, if regalia be dust and dirt, have three loyal subjects, whom I’d rather relieve from service. Mother is still an invalid, though a partially restored one; father and Austin still clamor for food; and I, like a martyr, am feeding them. Wouldn’t you love to see me in these bonds of great despair, looking around my kitchen, and praying for kind deliverance, and declaring by “Omai’s beard” I never was in such plight? My kitchen, I think I called it—God forbid that it was, or shall be, my own—God keep me from what they call households, except that bright one of “faith”!
Don’t be afraid of my imprecations—they never did any one harm, and they make me feel so cool, and so very much more comfortable! … I presume you are loving your mother, and loving the stranger and wanderer—visiting the poor and afflicted, and reaping whole fields of blessings—save me a little sheaf, only a very little one! Remember and care for me sometimes, and scatter a fragrant flower in this wilderness life of mine by writing me, and by not forgetting, and by lingering longer in prayer, that the Father may bless one more!
MY DEAR AUSTIN,—I received a letter from home on Saturday by Mr. G—S—, and father wrote in it that he intended to send for cousin Emily and myself on Saturday of this week to spend the Sabbath at home. I went to Miss Whitman, after receiving the letter, and asked her if we could go if you decided to come for us. She seemed stunned by my request, and could not find utterance to an answer for some time. At length she said, “Did you not know it was contrary to the rules of the Seminary to ask to be absent on the Sabbath?” I told her I did not. She then took a Catalogue from her table, and showed me the law in full at the last part of it. She closed by saying that we could not go, and I returned to my room without farther ado. So you see I shall be deprived of the pleasure of a visit home, and you that of seeing me, if I may have the presumption to call it a pleasure! The teachers are not willing to let the girls go home this term as it is the last one, and as I have only nine weeks more to spend here, we had better be contented to obey the commands. We shall only be the more glad to see one another after a longer absence, that will be all. I was highly edified with your imaginative note to me, and think your flights of fancy indeed wonderful at your age! When are you coming to see me—it would be very pleasant to us to receive a visit from your highness if you can be absent from home long enough for such a purpose… . I can’t write longer.
… I’m glad you are so well pleased, I’m glad you are not delighted. I would not that foreign places should wear the smile of home. We are quite alarmed for the boys—hope you won’t kill or pack away any of ‘em—so near Dr Webster’s bones ‘tis not strange you have had temptations! … The country’s still just now, and the severities alluded to will have a salutary influence in waking the people up. Speaking of getting up, how early are metropolitans expected to wake up, especially young men—more especially school-masters? I miss my “department” mornings. I lay it quite to heart that I’ve no one to wake up. Your room looks lonely enough, I do not love to go in there; whenever I pass through I find I ‘gin to whistle, as we read that little boys are wont to do in the graveyard. I am going to set out crickets as soon as I find time, that they by their shrill singing shall help disperse the gloom; will they grow if I transplant them?
You importune me for news; I am very sorry to say “Vanity of vanities” there’s no such thing as news—it is almost time for the cholera, and then things will take a start! … All of the folks send love.
… Oh how I wish I could see your world and its little kingdoms, and I wish I could see the king—Stranger! he was my brother! I fancy little boys of several little sizes, some of them clothed in blue cloth, some of them clad in gray—I seat them round on benches in the school-room of my mind—then I set them all to shaking—on peril of their lives that they move their lips or whisper; then I clothe you with authority and empower you to punish, and to enforce the law, I call you “Rabbi, Master,” and the picture is complete! It would seem very funny, say for Vinnie and me to come round as Committee—we should enjoy the terrors of fifty little boys, and any specimens of discipline in your way would be a rare treat for us. I should love to know how you managed—whether government as a science is laid down and executed, or whether you cuff and thrash as the occasion dictates; whether you use pure law as in the case of commanding, or whether you enforce it by means of sticks and stones as in the case of agents. I suppose you have authority bounded but by their lives… . I should think you’d be tired of school and teaching and such hot weather. I really wish you were here, and the Endicott school where you found it. Whenever we go to ride in our beautiful family carriage we think if “wishes were horses” we four “beggars would ride.” We shall enjoy brimful everything now but half full, and to have you home once more will be like living again.
We are having a pleasant summer—without one of the five it is yet a lonely one. Vinnie says sometimes—Didn’t we have a brother—it seems to me we did, his name was Austin—we call but he answers not again—echo, Where is Austin? laughing, “Where is Austin?” … I wish they need not exhibit just for once in the year, and give you up on Saturday instead of the next week Wednesday; but keep your courage up and show forth those Emerald Isles till school committees and mayors are blinded with the dazzling! Wouldn’t I love to be there! …
Our apples are ripening fast. I am fully convinced that with your approbation they will not only pick themselves, but arrange one another in baskets and present themselves to be eaten.
At my old stand again, dear Austin, and happy as a queen to know that while I speak those whom I love are listening, and I am happier still if I shall make them happy.
I have just finished reading your letter which was brought in since church. I like it grandly—very—because it is so long, and also it’s so funny—we have all been laughing till the old house rung again at your delineation of men, women, and things. I feel quite like retiring in presence of one so grand, and casting my small lot among small birds and fishes; you say you don’t comprehend me, you want a simpler style—gratitude indeed for all my fine philosophy! I strove to be exalted, thinking I might reach you, and while I pant and struggle and climb the nearest cloud, you walk out very leisurely in your slippers from Empyrean, and without the slightest notice, request me to get down! As simple as you please, the simplest sort of simple—I’ll be a little ninny, a little pussy catty, a little Red Riding Hood; I’ll wear a bee in my bonnet, and a rose-bud in my hair, and what remains to do you shall be told hereafter.
Your letters are richest treats, send them always just such warm days—they are worth a score of fans and many refrigerators—the only difficulty they are so queer, and laughing such hot weather is anything but amusing. A little more of earnest, and a little less of jest until we are out of August, and then you may joke as freely as the father of rogues himself, and we will banish care, and daily die a-laughing!
It is very hot here now; I don’t believe it’s any hotter in Boston than it is here… . Vinnie suggests that she may sometimes occur to mind when you would like more collars made. I told her I wouldn’t tell you—I haven’t, however, decided whether I will or not.
I often put on five knives and forks, and another tumbler, forgetting for the moment that “we are not all here.” It occurs to me, however, and I remove the extra, and brush a tear away in memory of my brother.
We miss you now and always. When God bestows but three, and one of those is withdrawn, the others are left alone… . Father is as uneasy when you are gone away as if you catch a trout and put him in Sahara. When you first went away he came home very frequently—walked gravely towards the barn, and returned looking very stately—then strode away down street as if the foe was coming; now he is more resigned—contents himself by fancying that “we shall hear to-day,” and then when we do not hear, he wags his head profound, and thinks without a doubt there will be news “to-morrow.” “Once one is two,” once one will be two—ah, I have it here!
I wish you could have some cherries—if there was any way we would send you a basket of them—they are very large and delicious, and are just ripening now. Little Austin Grout comes every day to pick them, and mother takes great comfort in calling him by name, from vague association with her departed boy. Austin, to tell the truth, it is very still and lonely—I do wish you were here… . The railroad is “a-workin’.” My love to all my friends. I am on my way downstairs to put the tea-kettle boiling—writing and taking tea cannot sympathize. If you forget me now, your right hand shall its cunning.
… Mother sends her love and your waistcoat, thinking you’ll like the one, and quite likely need the other.
DEAR FRIEND,—Are you willing? I am so far from land. To offer you the cup, it might some Sabbath come my turn. Of wine how solemn-full!
Did you get the doubloons—did you vote upon “Robert”? You said you would come in February. Only three weeks more to wait at the gate!
While you are sick, we—are homesick. Do you look out to-night? The moon rides like a girl through a topaz town. I don’t think we shall ever be merry again—you are ill so long. When did the dark happen?
I skipped a page to-night, because I come so often, now, I might have tired you.
That page is fullest, though.
Vinnie sends her love. I think father and mother care a great deal for you, and hope you may be well. When you tire with pain, to know that eyes would cloud, in Amherst —might that comfort, some?
Mother never asked a favor of Mr. Bowles before—that he accept from her the little barrel of apples.
“Sweet apples,” she exhorts me, with an occasional Baldwin for Mary and the squirrels.
… Thank you, dear, for the quickness which is the blossom of request, and for the definiteness—for a new rule is a chance. The bread resulted charmingly, and such pretty little proportions, quaint as a druggist’s formula—“I do remember an apothecary.” Mother and Vinnie think it the nicest they have ever known, and Maggie so extols it.
Mr. Lathrop’s poem was piteously sweet.10
To know of your homes is comforting. I trust they are both peace. Home is the riddle of the wise—the booty of the dove. God bless the sunshine in L——‘s room, and could he find a sweeter task than to “temper the wind” to her curls? …
Tell us when you are happy, but be sure and tell us when you are sad, for Emily’s heart is the edifice where the “wicked cease from troubling.”
I have only a moment, exiles, but you shall have the largest half. Mother’s dear little wants so engross the time, —to read to her, to fan her, to tell her health will come to-morrow, to explain to her why the grasshopper is a burden, because he is not so new a grasshopper as he was, —this is so ensuing, I hardly have said “Good-morning, mother,” when I hear myself saying “Mother, good-night.”
DEAR FRIEND,—Would it be possible you would excuse me if I once more inquire for the health of the brother whom association has made sacred?
With the trust that your own is impairless, and that fear for your brother has not too much depressed you, please accept the solicitude of myself and my sister.
DEAR FRIEND,—Is not the sweet resentment of friends that we are not strong, more inspiriting even than the strength itself?
Should Mr. Emerson ever become ill and idle, mother hopes his clergyman will be as delicately thoughtful of him as he has been of her.
We trust the dear friend is convalescing.
These loveliest of days are certainly with that design.
DEAR COUSIN,—The “Golden Rule” is so lovely, it needs no police to enforce it.