I suppose, from the tendency of the New York taste and the collection of
musicians.

I heard Vieuxtemps both times he played after his return. I was very much
delighted; he was so modest and composed and refined. His playing is as
wonderful as Ole Bull's, but not so fascinating; his compositions more
contemplative and regular, not so wild and throbbing with the irregular
pulsations of unsatisfied genius, as are Ole Bull's. I felt no disposition
to compare, feeling how different they were. I thanked God when I came
away that no one man has sole power, but that many may serve in this
boundless temple, each in its various offices. Yet in my memory is Ole
Bull the only man who has stirred me up as genius always must. When I
heard Vieuxtemps, I knew what to anticipate; the grandeur of the
instrumental and the human possibility upon it had been revealed to me,
therefore he could not surprise me, and for that revelation I am indebted
to Ole Bull. Vieuxtemps prolonged the echo of the deep tone that had been
sounded into my spiritual ear. I must say that the first was grandest to
me, and remains so.

I passed Sunday P.M. with Rakemann; he played all the time, told me of you
and Boston and his love for it, asked me if I had heard more of the
concerts you mentioned. Timm on Monday played me the "Invitation to the
W." very beautifully, beside some Mazurkas of Chopin, also the "Egmont"
overture grandly. Saturday evening the second Philharmonic, the "Jupiter
Symphony," and some Septuats, etc. It was not a good concert. Castellan
sang for the last time. Not a note of Beethoven! Yesterday afternoon and
evening I passed with Josephine Maman, who plays and sings finely. We had
some of Beethoven, the "Pathetique," etc., and some songs of Schubert,
which I had never heard. A singular girl, but delightful to me. My musical
appetite has been well appeased; can it ever be satisfied? To-night,