Sunday, May 15.
Another night of sleep. I am a day older, with gray hairs shooting forth with startling growth. We dined at Prescott's at five o'clock,—William and Charles Amory, W. H. Gardiner, Dr. Robbins, and myself. There was a good deal of pleasant conversation. [208] Mr. Webster arrived in town yesterday. I wish to see him about Fay, and to revive the old plan about Greene; but our public men are so lost in selfishness that I do not hope much. If I were a partisan in politics, I should speak as one having influence. We1 have read the proofs of Dr. Channing's second pamphlet. It is bold, vivid, and full of life-giving truths. I admire the power of this man. Of all moral truth he has an instinctive perception, and clothes it in an angelic light. . . . So I close this rambling scrawl. What care you for these minutes and fragments of life here in Boston? You now look upon the Rhine and its castled glories. God bless you! my dear friend. Get health and peace, and come home. Ever and ever affectionately yours,
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Cambridge, MA. Press of John Wilson and Son. 1877.
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