Fields. "We must not visit San Francisco too
young," he said, "or we shall never wish to come away. It is called
the 'Golden Gate,' not because of its gold, but because of the lovely
golden flowers which at this season cover the whole face of the
country down to the edge of the great sea." He smiled at the namby-
pamby travelers who turned back because of the discomforts of the
trip into the valley of the Yosemite. It was a place full of marvel
and glory to him. The only regret attending the trip seems to have
been that he was obliged to miss the meetings of the Saturday Club,
which were always dear to him.
The following extract gives a picture of him about this time:--"A
call from Mr. Emerson, who talked of Lowell's 'joyous genius.' He
said: 'I have read what he has done of late with great interest, and
am sorry to have been so slow as not to have written him yet,
especially as I am to meet him at the club dinner to-day. How is
Pope?' he continued, crossing the room to look at an authentic
portrait by Richardson of that great master of verse. 'Such a face as
this should send us all to re-reading his works again.' Then turning
to the bust of Tennyson, by Woolner, which stood near, he said, 'The
more I think of this bust and the grand self-assertion in it, the more
I like it....' Emerson came in after the club dinner; Longfellow also.
Mrs. G---- was present, and bragged grandly, and was very smart in
talk.
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