Print (PDF) - On this page / på denna sida - Boston, January 22
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He read to me one afternoon some portions of his Observations on England (in manuscript) and scraps from his conversations with Thomas Carlyle (the only man of whom I heard Emerson speak with anything like admiration) about "the young America," as well as the journey with him to Stonehenge. Some of these things I can never forget. I feel that my intercourse with him will leave a deep trace in my soul. I could desire in him warmer sympathies, larger interest in social questions that touch upon the well-being of mankind, and more feeling for the suffering and sorrowful on earth. But what right, indeed, has the flower, which vibrates with every breath of wind, to quarrel with the granite rock because it is differently made? In the bosom of such lie strong metals. Let the brook be silent and rejoice that it can reflect the rock, the flowers, the firmament, and the stars, and grow and be strengthened by the invisible fountains that are nourished by the mountain tops. Emerson is at this moment regarded as the head of the Transcendentalists in this section of America, a kind of people who are found principally in the States of New England, and who seem to me like its White Mountains or Alps; that is to say, they aim at being so. But so far as I have yet heard or seen, I recognize only one actual Alp,
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