_--This week I have not read any book,
nor once walked in the woods and fields. I meant to give its
days to setting outward things in order, and its evenings to
writing. But, I know not how it is, I can never simplify my
life; always so many ties, so many claims! However, soon the
winter winds will chant matins and vespers, which may make my
house a cell, and in a snowy veil enfold me for my prayer.
If I cannot dedicate myself this time, I will not expect it
again. Surely it should be! These Carnival masks have crowded
on me long enough, and Lent must be at hand. * *
'---- and ---- have been writing me letters, to answer which
required all the time and thought I could give for a day or
two. ----'s were of joyful recognition, and so beautiful I
would give much to show them to you. ----'s have singularly
affected me. They are noble, wise, of most unfriendly
friendliness. I don't know why it is, I always seem to myself
to have gone so much further with a friend than I really have.
Just as at Newport I thought ---- met me, when he did not, and
sang a joyful song which found no echo, so here ---- asks me
questions which I thought had been answered in the first days
of our acquaintance, and coldly enumerates all the charming
qualities which make it impossible for him to part with me!
He scolds me, though in the sweetest and solemnest way.
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