Isaac is my good friend, and passed Sunday P.M. in my room. We spoke of
the church and society, and all topics that do so excite the youthful
mind. I must break short off to dress for my party. I shall speak to you
again before you know that I have been.

Saturday. To-day I have finished the "Lehrjahre." It is very calm and
wise. It is full of Goethe, and therefore leaves behind in its impression
that almost indefinite want which his character leaves, a want apparently
readily designated. Yet to say his intellect was disproportionately
developed leaves us in doubt whether a pure natural growth of the moral
nature would have harmonized with his peculiar manifestation of intellect.
He is to me as a blind God, made wise by laborious experience, not
perpetual sight. He is at least too large for the tip of a letter.

What do you read, or don't you read? Sunday. To-day I heard a fine sermon
from W.H. Channing. There I met Isaac and C.P. Cranch. Walked home with
the latter, who during the week had heard Ole Bull. I suppose he will
write you of it. Prof. Adam, from Northampton, was there. At our church, a
few Sundays since, I saw Mrs. Delano, late Kate Lyman, and her sister
Susan. The latter was beautiful. She seemed like a pure, passionless
saint. Had I been in a Catholic church I had imagined her to have been
some holy being, incarnated by her deep sympathy with the worshippers. I
hardly saw her, just enough to receive a poetic impression.

How little I have said! My life is very quiet, yet very full. Your letters
are very grateful to me. One dares trust so much more to paper than to
conversation. Friends living intimately learn of each other from tones and
glances, not by conversation. Friends meet intellectually in words, lovers
heartfully in words.