in a letter to a young lady, to whom she was already
much attached:--

I am repelled by your account of your party. It is beneath you
to amuse yourself with active satire, with what is vulgarly
called quizzing. When such a person as ---- chooses to throw
himself in your way, I sympathize with your keen perception of
his ridiculous points. But to laugh a whole evening at vulgar
nondescripts,--is that an employment for one who was born
passionately to love, to admire, to sustain truth? This would
be much more excusable in a chameleon like me. Yet, whatever
may be the vulgar view of my character, I can truly say, I
know not the hour in which I ever looked for the ridiculous.
It has always been forced upon me, and is the accident of my
existence. I would not want the sense of it when it comes, for
that would show an obtuseness of mental organization; but, on
peril of my soul, I would not move an eyelash to look for it.'

When she came to Concord, she was already rich in friends, rich in
experiences, rich in culture. She was well read in French, Italian,
and German literature. She had learned Latin and a little Greek. But
her English reading was incomplete; and, while she knew Moliere, and
Rousseau, and any quantity of French letters, memoirs, and novels, and
was a dear student of Dante and Petrarca, and knew German books more
cordially than any other person, she was little read in Shakspeare;
and I believe I had the pleasure of making her acquainted with
Chaucer, with Ben Jonson, with Herbert, Chapman, Ford, Beaumont and
Fletcher, with Bacon, and Sir Thomas Browne. I was seven years her
senior, and had the habit of idle reading in old English books, and,
though riot much versed, yet quite enough to give me the right to
lead her. She fancied that her sympathy and taste had led her to an
exclusive culture of southern European books.

She had large experiences. She had been a precocious scholar at Dr.
Park's school; good in mathematics and in languages. Her father, whom
she had recently lost had been proud of her, and petted her. She had
drawn at Cambridge, numbers of lively young men about her. She had had
a circle of young women who were devoted to her, and who described her
as "a wonder of intellect, who had yet no religion." She had drawn
to her every superior young man or young woman she had met, and whole
romances of life and love had been confided, counselled, t