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It might be said even that reform was of good family in Boston；
and literature and reform equally shared the regard of Edmund Quincy；
whose race was one of the most aristocratic in New England。 I had known
him by his novel of 'Wensley' （it came so near being a first…rate novel）；
and by his Life of Josiah Quincy； then a new book； but still better by
his Boston letters to the New York Tribune。 These dealt frankly； in the
old anti…slavery days between 1850 and 1860； with other persons of
distinction in Boston； who did not see the right so clearly as Quincy
did； or who at least let their interests darken them to the ugliness of
slavery。 Their fault was all the more comical because it was the error
of men otherwise so correct； of characters so stainless； of natures so
upright； and the Quincy letters got out of it all the fun there was in
it。 Quincy himself affected me as the finest patrician type I had ever
met。 He was charmingly handsome； with a nose of most fit aquilinity；
smooth…shaven lips； 〃educated whiskers；〃 and perfect glasses； his manner
was beautiful； his voice delightful； when at our first meeting he made me
his reproaches in terms of lovely kindness for having used in my
'Venetian Life' the Briticism 'directly' for 'as soon as。'
Lowell once told me that Quincy had never had any calling or profession；
because when he found himself in the enjoyment of a moderate income on
leaving college； he decided to be simply a gentleman。 He was too much of
a man to be merely that； and he was an abolitionist； a journalist； and
for conscience' sake a satirist。 Of that political mood of society which
he satirized was an eminent man whom it was also my good fortune to meet
in my early days in Boston； and if his great sweetness and kindness had
not instantly won my liking； I should still have been glad of the glimpse
of the older and statelier Boston which my slight acquaintance with
George Ticknor gave me。 The historian of Spanish literature； the friend
and biographer of Prescott； and a leading figure of the intellectual
society of an epoch already closed； dwelt in the fine old square brick
mansion which yet stands at the corner of Park Street and Beacon； though
sunk now to a variety of business uses； and lamentably changed in aspect。
The interior was noble； and there was an air of scholarly quiet and of
lettered elegance in the library； where the host received his guests；
which seemed to pervade the whole house； and which made its appeal to the
imagination of one of them most potently。 It seemed to me that to be
master of such circumstance and keeping would be enough of life in a
certain way； and it all lingers in my memory yet； as if it were one with
the gentle courtesy which welcomed me。
Among my fellow…guests one night was George S。 Hillard； now a faded
reputation； and even then a life defeated of the high expectation of its
youth。 I do not know whether his 'Six Months in Italy' still keeps
itself in print； but it was a book once very well known； and he was
perhaps the more gracious to me； as our host was； because of our common
Italian background。 He was of the old Silver…gray Whig society too； and
I suppose that order of things imparted its tone to what I felt and saw
in that place。 The civil war had come and gone； and that order accepted
the result if not with faith； then with patience。 There were two young
English noblemen there that night； who had been travelling in the South；
and whose stories of the wretched conditions they had seen moved our host
to some open misgiving。 But the Englishmen had no question； in spite of
all； they defended the accomplished fact； and when I ventured to say that
now at least there could be a hope of better things； while the old order
was only the perpetuation of despair； he mildly assented； with a gesture
of the hand that waived the point； and a deeply sighed； 〃Perhaps；
perhaps。〃
He was a presence of great dignity； which seemed to recall the past with
a steadfast allegiance； and yet to relax itself towards the present in
the wisdom of the accumulated years。 His whole life had been passed in
devotion to polite literature and in the society of the polite world； and
he was a type of scholar such as only the circumstances of Boston could
form。 Those circumstances could alone form such another type as Quincy；
and I wish I could have felt then as I do now the advantage of meeting
them so contemporaneously。
VII。
The historian of Spanish literature was an old man nearer eighty than
seventy when I saw him； and I recall of him personally his dark tint；
and the scholarly refinement of his clean…shaven face； which seemed to me
rather English than American in character。 He was quite exterior to the
Atlantic group of writers； and had no interest in me as one of it。
Literary Boston of that day was not a solidarity； as I soon perceived；
and I understood that it was only in my quality of stranger that I saw
the different phases of it。 I should not be just to a vivid phase if I
failed to speak of Mrs。 Julia Ward Howe and the impulse of reform which
she personified。 I did not sympathize with this then so much as I do
now； but I could appreciate it on the intellectual side。 Once； many
years later； I heard Mrs。 Howe speak in public； and it seemed to me that
she made one of the best speeches I had ever heard。 It gave me for the
first time a notion of what women might do in that sort if they entered
public life； but when we met in those earlier days I was interested in
her as perhaps our chief poetess。 I believe she did not care much to
speak of literature； she was alert for other meanings in life； and I
remember how she once brought to book a youthful matron who had perhaps
unduly lamented the hardships of housekeeping； with the sharp demand；
〃Child； where is your religion？〃 After the many years of an acquaintance
which had not nearly so many meetings as years； it was pleasant to find
her； at the latest； as strenuous as ever for the faith of works； and as
eager to aid Stepniak as John Brown。 In her beautiful old age she
survives a certain literary impulse of Boston； but a still higher impulse
of Boston she will not survive； for that will last while the city
endures。
VIII。
The Cambridge men were curiously apart from others that formed the great
New England group； and with whom in my earlier ignorance I had always
fancied them mingling。 Now and then I met Doctor Holmes at Longfellow's
table； but not oftener than now and then； and I never saw Emerson in
Cambridge at all except at Longfellow's funeral。 In my first years on
the Atlantic I sometimes saw him； when he would address me some grave；
rather retrorsive civilities； after I had been newly introduced to him；
as I had always to be on these occasions。 I formed the belief that he
did not care for me； either in my being or doing； and I am far from
blaming him for that： on such points there might easily be two opinions；
and I was myself often of the mind I imagined in him。
If Emerson forgot me； it was perhaps because I was not of those qualities
of things which even then； it was said； he could remember so much better
than