Here was Rose Lamb, artist and dear friend; and
here Mrs. Mary Hemenway was a most beloved presence, with her eager
enthusiasm for reform, yet with a modesty of bearing which made young
and old press to her side. She loved Celia Thaxter, who in her turn
was deeply and reverently attached to Mrs. Hemenway.
The early affection of both Mr. Thaxter and his wife for William
Morris Hunt grew to be the love of a lifetime. Hunt's grace,
versatility, and charm, not to speak of his undoubted genius, exerted
their combined fascination over these appreciative friends in common
with the rest of his art-loving contemporaries; but to these two, each
in their several ways, Hunt felt himself equally attracted, and the
last sad summer of his life he gladly turned to Celia Thaxter in her
island home as a sure refuge in time of trouble. It was she who
watched him day by day, listening to his words, which came clothed
with a kind of inspiration. "Whatever genius may be," said Tom
Appleton, "we all feel that William Hunt had it. His going is the
extinction of a great light; a fervent hand is cold; and the warmth
which glowed through so many friends and disciples is like a trodden
ember, extinguished." It was Celia Thaxter's hurrying footsteps which
traced her friend to the spot where, in extreme weakness, he fell in
death. She wrote, "It was that pretty lake where my wild roses had
been blooming all summer, and where the birds dipped and sang at
sunrise.
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