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in society. Miss Sedgwick, the author of Redwood,
came here, together with her young niece, a few days
after my arrival. She is between fifty and sixty,
and her countenance indicates much sensible kindness
and good will, but no real genius. Her figure is
beautifully feminine, and her whole demeanor womanly,
sincere, and frank, without a shadow of affectation. I
felt my soul a little slumbrous while with her for
the first few days; but this feeling was, as it
were, blown quite away by a touching and beautiful
expression of cordiality on her side, which revealed
us to each other; and since then I have felt that
I could live with her as with a heavenly soul in
which one has entire trust. I derived pleasure, also,
from her highly sensible conversation and from her
truly womanly human sympathies. She has a true and
gentle spirit; and I feel that I can really depend
upon her. Of late years she has written much for what
I will call the people of lower degree in society;
because here, where almost every person works for
his living, one cannot properly speak of a working
class, but quite correctly of people of small means
and somewhat limited environment and circumstances
--a class which has not yet worked itself up. Franklin,
himself a workman, and one who had worked himself up,
wrote for this class. Miss Sedgwick writes for the
same, and her little novels and stories are
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