You will gather what I think from such hints as these. I recognize the
worth of the movement, as I do of all sincere action. Other reasons must
bind me peculiarly to the particular me at Brook Farm. "Think not of any
severance of our loves," though we should not meet immediately. Burrill
will see if there is any such place as we wish about you. I have not much
hope of his success. The scent of the roses will not depart, though the
many are scattered. I hardly hope to say directly how very beautiful it
lies in my memory. What a heart-fresco it has become! All the dignity, the
strength, the devotion will be preserved by you; that graceful
"aimlessness" comes no more. And yet that was necessary. Long before I
knew of the changes I perceived that the growth of the place would
overshadow the spots where the sunlight had lain so softly and long. We
must still regret the waywardness of the child, though the man is active
and victorious; and the delicate odor of the blossom is unrivalled by the
juicy taste of the fruit. The one implies necessity; the other a
self-obedient impulse. You see I do not forget it was a child; but the
philosopher has no better playfellow.

I wish this was me instead of my letter, for a warm grasp of the hand
might say more than all these words. Yr friend,

G.W.C.


XI

NEW YORK, _March 27, 1844._

At last I imagine our summer destiny is fixed. This morning Burrill
received a reply from Emerson informing us of a promising place near