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March 24. Yesterday Channing was here, the amiable
W. H. Channing! He came in the morning, fresh and dewy as a May
morn. During the winter we had exchanged a few letters and in them had
got a little atwist. Emerson was the apple of discord between
us. Channing set up Emerson, and I set up--myself. So we both became
silent. Now when we met he was most cordial and beaming, gave me a
volume of Wordsworth’s Excursion, and was very kind and
amiable. Near such men one breathes the air of spring. There was a
little party in the evening; Channing, among the rest. After he had
said good night and left the house, he came hastily back, and called
to me, led me onto the piazza, where, pointing up to the starry heaven
that shone in beaming splendor above us, he smiled, pressed my hand,
and--was gone.
