With Marcus I talk about what is going on both now and for hereafter in the country, whether afar off or near; with Rebecca about the history of the inward life; and thus learn much which both affects and interests me. Yes, my sister, there is here much more poetry, much more of the romance of life, than we have imagined. Life here is new youth. The climate, also, is youthful, but not always most agreeably so: it is very fickle. The first days I spent here at Brooklyn were so bitterly cold that I was frozen, both body and mind. Now, and for the last three days, it has been so warm, that I have lain at night with my window open, have seen the stars shining through the Venetian shutters, and been saluted in the crimson dawn by the mildest zephyrs, and that air, and that odor, which has in it something magical.

November 7th. I have not been able to write for several days. I am sorry for it, my sweet child, but I can not help it. I will some time, by word of mouth, fill up the gaps which remain in my letters. Many things which are flattering, and many things which are difficult, occur to me every day, which are not worth putting down on paper. My life is a daily warfare against kindness, and politeness, and curiosity, during which I often am weary and worn out; often, also, I feel the wafting influence of an extraordinary youthfulness and enjoyment gush through my soul. I felt this one day during a conversation with the noble, enthusiastic W. H. Channing-a character as ardent as it is pure, with a beaming eye, and a countenance as pure and regular as I could imagine that of a seraph to be. His figure, which is noble and elegant, is well suited for that of a public speaker. He is rather a critical admirer than an enthusiast as regards his country. He loves enthusiastically merely the ideal and the perfect, and knows that the reality falls short of this.

"We are very young, very young!" said he, speaking of the people of the United States. He spoke of Emerson

with admiration, but as of a remotely lofty spirit.

is the best of us all!" said he.

"Is he your friend?" I inquired.

"He

"No," replied he; "I can not flatter myself with such a relationship between us. He is, besides, too much apart, too-. But you ought to see him to be able to understand him."

I made some observation against Emerson's turn of mind. Channing did not make much reply to this, but continued mentally to look up to Emerson as one looks up to some star of the first magnitude. This man must have the power of fascination.

us.

On Wednesday I go with Channing, and Marcus, and Rebecca to the North American Phalanstery in New Jersey, take a near view of that wonderful thing, and learn more about Christian Socialism. Bergfalk will go with After that I return here, where I remain to the end of the week. The following week I shall spend with Miss Lynch in New York, and give myself up to a life of society there. After that, I return here, and accompany my friends to Massachusetts, in order to celebrate with their relations there the great festival of Thanksgiving-day, as it is called. This day, which is fixed this year for the 26th of November, is celebrated with particular solemnity in the states of New England, where it first originated. After that, I shall visit the Lowells, the Emersons, and many others, to whom I am invited, and so on to Boston, where I think of spending the winter months, and whence my friends will return home.

In the evening, at sunset, I went out for a solitary walk in the road, half town, half country. I walked beneath the green trees; and by my side went the beautiful Eddy, quite silent. The evening sky glowed, and cast its warm reflections over meadow and wooded height. And when I turned my eyes from these to the beautiful boy at my side, I met his, as gentle and winning as an angel's glance

D

He seemed to see and to understand that which lived

within my soul. Thus walked we onward. But it began to grow dusk; and now a man on horseback rode up to us with a large box or package upon his arm: it was that good Marcus on his Dolly; and the package which he carried was for me, and was full of the most beautiful flowers from Mr. Downing; and with them a few words for me, still more beautiful than the flowers. Rebecca and I arranged the flowers in a beautiful alabaster vase, in the form of a lily, rising from its basin. Marcus and Channing assisted us with their eyes.

I am quite well, my little Agatha, spite of vagaries both of body and soul, and am infinitely thankful for what I here learn and experience, and for these good, cordial friends! That which I want is to hear good news both from you and from mamma. I hope to hear by this day's post, hope and long. I must now send off this letter, and set to work on many others. Kiss mamma for me, and greet all who wish for greetings

Rose Cottage, November 12th, 1849. AT length, at length I have received letters from home, letters from mamma, and from you, my sweet Agatha ! I kissed the letter for joy when it was put into my hand. But ah! how it grieved me to hear that you are again ill, and that without either rhyme or reason, so soon after leaving the baths of Marstrand, where I last saw you so well. I can now merely endeavor to console myself with the belief that by this indisposition you will get rid of all further indisposition for the year, and that you, therefore, will be in all the better health for the winter. Will you not? yes, we must next winter remove with you to some

warmer climate, to your beautiful Italy, to Rome, or to Palermo, and next summer you can make good use of seabathing again at Marstrand. And I will be with you, my dear heart, and talk and write beautiful things for you, because I shall be rich in such things, and we will inhale a new and beautiful life together. I have not yet received your letter to London, but I shall have it yet, or else E. L. deserves to lose his head, if he have not already lost it, for he took it upon himself to receive this letter and send it on to me. But yet once more, thanks for the beautiful

letters.

I must now tell you about our expedition to the Phalanstery. It was a charming morning when we set out. The air felt quite young-scarcely five years old. It was not a boy, it was a girl, full of animation, but shy—a veiled beauty. The sun was concealed by light clouds, the winds were still. As Marcus, Rebecca, and I were standing for a short time by the ferry at Brooklyn, waiting for the boat to take us over to New York, a Quakeress was also standing there, with a Roman nose, and a frank but grave countenance. I looked at her, and she looked at me. All at once her countenance brightened as if by a sunbeam. She came up to me, "Thou art Miss Bremer," said she. "Yes," said I, "and thou art She mentioned her name, and we shook hands cordially. The inward light had illumined her in more than one way, and on such a morning I felt myself on the sweetly familiar terms of " thee and thou" with the whole world.

We crossed the river, Marcus, Rebecca, and I. The morning wind awoke, and the clouds began to move; sailing craft and steam-boats passed one another in the bay, and young lads sat in their boats fishing up large casks and planks which the current bore with it out to The shores shone out green and gold. An hour afterward and we were on board the steam-boat which would convey us to New Jersey. Bergfalk had joined us

sea.

full of life and good-humor. Channing had come with his pure glance, clear as the light of a diamond, and with him Mr. H., a lover of flowers and of Channing. We steamed along amid sunshine and conversation on subjects. of interest, the dialogue being principally between Channing and myself, the others putting in now and then a word, every one rather opposed to me, and I a little opposed to all, with the exception of Marcus, whose reason accorded with my views. By this time the clouds began to gather over us, and it soon began to rain.

We arrived in New Jersey amid rain, and in rain we reached the little town of Redbank. Here a wagon from the Phalanstery met us, which had been sent for the guests, as well as for potatoes, and in it we stowed ourselves, beneath a tilted cover of yellow oil-cloth, which sheltered us from the rain. A handsome young man, one of the people of the Phalanstery, drove the pair of fat horses which drew us, and after we had plowed the sand for a couple of hours, we arrived at the Phalanstery, a couple of large houses, with several lesser ones standing around them, without any thing remarkable in their style of architecture. The landscape around had a pleasant, parklike appearance; the fields and the trees were yet quite green. New Jersey is celebrated for its mild climate and its fine fruits. We were conducted into a hall and regaled with a dinner which could not have been better if it had been in Arcadia; it would have been impossible to have produced better milk, bread, or cheese. They had also meat here.

I here met with the family which had first invited me to the Phalanstery, and found them to be the sister and brother-in-law of Marcus, two earnest, spiritual-minded people, who have a profound faith in and love for the principle of association. He is the president of the institution at this place. Mr. A., who has not alone enthusiasm, but who is evidently a clever and straight-forward man of