Full resolution (TIFF) - On this page / på denna sida - On the Hudson, Saturday, October 20
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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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