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than half a dozen homes were opened to me, where I
might have been received as a guest and member of
the family; and the number of these homes increases
daily. I have had invitations even from Quakers. Would
that I could have accepted one fifth of these!
On the Hudson, Saturday, October 20. My happiest hours
here are those which I spend alone in the forenoon,
in my room, with American books which Mr. Downing
lends me, and those passed in the evening with my host
and hostess, sitting in the little darkened parlor
with bookcases and busts around us, and the fire
quietly glimmering in the large fireplace. There,
by the evening lamp, Mr. Downing and his wife read
to me by turns passages from their most esteemed
American poets. Afterward I carry the books with
me up into my chamber; in this way I have become
acquainted with Bryant, Lowell, and Emerson, all of
them representatives, in however dissimilar manner,
of the life of the New World. Bryant sings especially
of its natural life, of its woods, its prairies,
its peculiar natural scenes and phenomena; and his
song breathes the quiet, fresh inspiration of that
life. One feels the sap circulating through the veins
of the plant, and the leaves shooting forth. His
Thanatopsis, or night song, is a largely conceived,
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