Is there no chance of your coming to
Boston all this winter? I had hoped to see you for a few hours at
least.
I wrote you one letter while at the West; I know not if it was ever
received; it was sent by a private opportunity, one of those "traps to
catch the unwary," as they have been called. It was no great loss, if
lost. I did not feel like writing letters while travelling. It took
all my strength of mind to keep moving and to receive so many new
impressions. Surely I never had so clear an idea before of the
capacity to bless, of mere _Earth_, when fresh from the original
breath of the creative spirit. To have this impression, one must see
large tracts of wild country, where the traces of man's inventions are
too few and slight to break the harmony of the first design. It will
not be so, long, even where I have been now; in three or four years
those vast flowery plains will be broken up for tillage,--those
shapely groves converted into logs and boards. I wished I could have
kept on now, for two or three years, while yet the first spell rested
on the scene. I feel much refreshed, even by this brief intimacy with
Nature in an aspect of large and unbroken lineaments.
Pages:
402
403
404
405
406
407
408
409
410
411
412
413
414
415
416
417
418
419
420
421
422
423
424
425
426