Charles wrote Burrill a manly letter during the week. The Arcadian beauty
of the place is lost to me, and would have been lost, had there been no
change. Seen from this city life, you cannot think how fair it seems. So
calm a congregation of devoted men and true women performing their
perpetual service to the Idea of their lives, and clothed always in white
garments. Though you change your ritual, I feel your hope is unchanged;
and though it seems to me less beautiful than the one you leave, it is
otherwise to you. There was a mild grace about our former life that no
system attains. The unity in variety bound us very closely together. I
doubt if we shall be again among you, as I had hoped. I cannot, in
thought, lose my hold upon the place without pain not to be spoken of. On
the whole, I cannot say, even to you, just what I would about it. It will
leak out from the pores of my hands before we have done with each other.

I hear no music here now, except Timm and Rakemann. Charlotte Dana is
here; I have heard her only once. The opera is a wretched affair.
By-the-by, I gave W.H. Channing an article for _The Present_, very short,
upon music and Ole Bull. If he publishes it, it will not be new to you,
though I do not remember if I have talked with you about all at which it
hints. I await orders and manuscripts about the French stories; though you
are very busy, all of you, just now, perhaps too much so for that
business. The rest stands adjourned. Give my love to friends. Yrs ever,

G.W.C.

Will you say to C. Dana that I would like to come for a short visit--at
least, before going elsewhere; and that as soon as possible, say in a
week. Can I come? If not, ask him to say when. Yours,