G.W.C.

Tuesday morning. I concluded to retain my letter for Charles, who leaves
to-day. Charles and Isaac and Burrill and I all went to Max Bohrer's
concert last evening. The hall was full, 1000 or 1500 people present. I
was glad to go, for he introduced me to the Instrument, but no more. He
has great skill, and has fully mastered it. That is what persevering
talent can always do. Bohrer loved his instrument because he could display
himself by its aid, not because it was through his genius a minister and
revealer of the art to himself and others. His conceit is sublime. It was
entire and unique. His posture and air were ridiculously Olympian. Mrs.
Sutton is very fat and has a thin voice. There are some good tones in it,
but she undertakes the most difficult music. Antignini sings pleasantly
but with great effort. All his songs were his own composition, and all Max
Bohrer's his. In fact, it was not a musical festival so much as a
gymnasium for musical instruments, both mechanical and human. Timm and
Scharfenberg both played admirably. I saw Fred'k Rakemann in the crowd;
could not conveniently speak to him, and am going, as soon as I can find
out where he lives, to see him. His face was so sad that I wanted to go to
him and say some tenderer word than I should have said had I spoken. Yet
after all he doesn't need tender words, but a calm, grateful demeanor
towards him.

I wish that I could tell all the glories of my trip to New York. I went
from Worcester over the Western R.R. to Albany and down the river. Some
other day shall be consecrated to their fit celebration when the
recollection may be pleasant and soothing among cares that disturb. Now I
expect Charles every moment to go with me to see Cranch.

Ask Charles for all news about our "externe." Remember me most tenderly to