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"Home," which I shall endeavor to read. Miss Sedgwick was at this time occupied in preparing a new edition of her collected works. She consulted me about some proposed alterations in some of these works, and I told her that I, for my own part, never would alter any thing in the works which I had written long since, even where I saw their faults, and could easily correct them; because, where an author lives and writes through a long course of years, his or her works constitute a history of that author's development, which ought to remain unaltered as a history in itself, alike instructive to him as to others. An author's works are portions of an autobiography, which he must write whether he will or not.

Miss Sedgwick invited me to her house in Lenox, in the western part of Massachusetts, during the next summer, and promised to visit with me a Shaker establishment in New Lebanon, which lies at no great distance from her house.

While Miss Sedgwick has been here the Downings have made an excursion with us to the top of South Beacon, one of the highest hills in the highlands of this district. Mr. Downing drove me, and for this mountain road a skillful driver and a good horse were really needful, because the road was steep, and rather an apology for a road than any thing else. But we stumbled and struggled over stock and stone in our light carriage, until we had ascended about nine hundred feet, and from the top of the woodcovered hill looked down upon half the world, as it seemed to me, but which presented the appearance of a billowy chaos of wooded heights and valleys, in which human dwellings were visible merely as specks of light, scarcely discernible to the naked eye. Man, so great in his suffering, in his combat, vanished into nothing, seen from this material hilltop, and therefore I thought not about him. That which was most refreshing to me in this landscape was the view of the Hudson, which, like a clear

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thought bursting from chaos, makes for itself a path through the woods, and flows brilliantly forth into the infinite. Our party was a little too large and a little too merry for me. I know not how it is that a thoughtful silence should always come over me in such gay parties amid natural scenes. And here I ought to have been alone with the magnificence of Nature. One little moment, partly alone and partly with Mr. Downing, who knows how to be gay and jocular with the gay, and silent with the silent, was to me the crowning luxury of the excursion, during which there was no lack of Champagne and joke, and more substantial fare yet for the palate, together with polite gentlemen and lovely ladies, both young and old. Yes, lovely ladies there certainly are here, but rather pretty and delicate than, properly speaking, beautiful. A really beautiful woman I have not yet seen here, but neither have I seen a single ill-favored countenance or deformed person. That which especially pleases me is the easy, unembarrassed, and yet modestly kind intercourse which exists between the young of both sexes.

Completely weary were we when, after our excursion to the hills, we reached home in the evening, and beautiful was rest in that lovely, quiet home with the kind Downings. That which my mind has retained of the excursion is the view of that bright river, bursting forth from the gloomy forests of earth. It gleams, as it were, within me.

I parted from Miss Sedgwick with a feeling that I should never like to part with her. Her niece, Susan, was an agreeable, well-educated girl. A young gentleman, who is said to be her lover, followed her hither.

A few days after our excursion to South Beacon, we went up the Hudson to visit a family of the name of D.. who belong to the aristocracy of these shores. We set off in good time in the morning; the air was delicious; the wind still, and the shores shone out in the utmost splendor of their autumnal pomp beneath a somewhat subdued

sunshine. The sails on the river scarcely moved, and above the heights lay a sort of sunny mist, a light haze which is said to distinguish this period of the year, and that state of the atmosphere which is here called "the Indian Summer." It commences, they say, at the end of October, and extends often through the whole of November into December, and is considered one of the most beautiful parts of the year. And if I am to judge by these days, one can scarcely imagine more perfect weather; warm and calm, the purest, most delicious atmosphere, sunshine softened by that light haze which seems to cast a mystical, romantic veil over the landscape brilliant with the splendor of autumn. Whence comes this Egyptian veil of mist? "It comes from the Indians, who are now smoking their pipes at their great Pahaws," replied the cheerful Mrs. Downing; "I wish you to have an accurate idea of things here." The accurate truth, however, is that nobody can say what is the real cause of this smoke-like mist, or of this summer in the midst of autumn.

But to return to our excursion, which was charming. We left the Highlands of the Hudson; the shores now became lower and the river wider, embracing islands on its bosom. But soon we perceived in the distance a yet higher and more massive range of hills than I had hitherto seen, the magnificent thousand-feet-high Catskill Mountains, which are a portion of the great Alleghany chain, which divides North America from north to south.

The banks of the river, which were scattered with houses, appeared rich and well cultivated. There were no castles, no ruins here, but often very tasteful houses, with terraces and orchards, whole parks of peach-trees. The only historical legends of these shores are a few tra ditions of wars with the Indians. I did not seem to miss the ruins and the legends of the Rhine. I like these fresh, new scenes, which have a vast future. We have ruins enough in the Old World. Among the company on

board was a Shaker in drab clothes, and a hat with broad brim; in countenance he looked like a cross old fellow, not at all a good representative of the Shaker establishment. After a sail of about three hours, we reached Blithewood, the beautiful seat of the D.'s, whither we were invited to a great breakfast. Here, as in many other places, I observed how they exclude the daylight from the rooms. This troubles me, who am accustomed to our light rooms in Sweden, and who love the light. But they say that the heat of the sun is too powerful here for the greater part of the year, and that they are obliged as much as possible to exclude its light from the rooms. A handsome, stately lady, whose figure was of remarkably beautiful proportions, and much rounder than is common among the ladies I have yet seen, received us kindly. This was Mrs. D. She is a Catholic, and is, I believe, of an Irish family, and her sisters are Calvinists. They manage, however, to agree together remarkably well, both in affection and good deeds-that central Church in which all sects may unite in the name of the same Lord.

We were conducted to our room, refreshed and dressed ourselves; then came breakfast and all the neighbors, and I had to shake from sixty to seventy kindly-extended hands, which would not have been a difficult task if a deal of small talk had not followed, which, through the repetition of the same word and thing, became wearisome, and made me feel like a parrot. The assembly was beautiful and gay, and the breakfast, which was magnificent, was closed by a dance. It was a pleasure to me to see so many lovely and lively young girls-delicate figures, though deficient in strength. The ladies dress with taste; have small hands and feet, and remind one of the French, but are more lovely than they. Something, however, is wanting in their countenances, but what I do not rightly know I fancy it is expression. I was not quite in spirits, and felt to-day somewhat fatigued. When, however, in

the evening, I came forth into the open air, and, accompanied by the silent Mr. Downing, wandered quietly beside the glorious, calm river, and contemplated the masses of light and soft velvet-like shadow which lay on the majestic Catskill Mountains, behind which the sun sank in cloudless splendor; then did the heart expand itself, and breathe freely in that sublime and glorious landscape; then did I drink from the mountain springs; then did I live for the first time that day.

In the evening I enjoyed an unusual pleasure. Mrs. D. played on the harp and piano, and sang remarkably well, with extraordinary power, like a real musician, which I believe is a rare thing in this country. There were both words and expression in her singing, and so there is also in her demeanor; hers is a noble figure, with a free and independent carriage; "she sustains herself," as you would say. She neither sings nor talks by rote. She sings and talks out of her own independent, feeling, and thinking soul. Her eldest son, a boy of thirteen, has, it appears to me, a real genius for music, even though he broke off and was not able to sing to the end—and I believe that he really could not--a little fantastic song, the first notes of which, however, were sufficient to foretell a something beyond talent in the boy. He was not in the mood, and in that state he could not sing. Mrs. D. told me, during our conversation at table, that her son was to learn a handicraft trade, because, although they were now wealthy, the time might come when they would be so no longer, but when it might be necessary for him to earn his bread as a common workman-so uncertain is the stability of wealth in America; why so, I could not rightly understand.

The following day I again saw a crowd of people, who came to see the Swedish stranger. In the afternoon visited two or three beautiful places in the neighborhood. On one of these, a point projecting into the river, has a

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