As I walked home this evening at sunset, over the Mill-Dam, towards
the city, I saw very distinctly that the city also is a bed in God's
garden. More of this some other time.
* * * * *
TO A YOUNG FRIEND.
_Concord, May _2, 1887.
MY DEAR: I am passing happy here, except that I am not well,--so
unwell that I fear I must go home and ask my good mother to let me
rest and vegetate beneath her sunny kindness for a while. The
excitement of conversation prevents my sleeping. The drive here with
Mr. E------ was delightful. Dear Nature and Time, so often
calumniated, will take excellent care of us if we will let them. The
wisdom lies in schooling the heart not to expect too much. I did that
good thing when I came here, and I am rich. On Sunday I drove to
Watertown with the author of "Nature." The trees were still bare, but
the little birds care not for that; they revel, and carol, and wildly
tell their hopes, while the gentle, "voluble" south wind plays with
the dry leaves, and the pine-trees sigh with their soul-like sounds
for June. It was beauteous; and care and routine fled away, and I was
as if they had never been, except that I vaguely whispered to myself
that all had been well with me.
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