" The men
there did not know much about his poetry, but they understood his
politics, and he was able to put in many a word to turn the vote of
the town. In Celia Thaxter's parlor he found a different company, but
his relations to the people who frequented that delightful place were
practically the same. He wished to understand their point of view, if
possible, and then, if he could find opportunity, he would help them
to a higher standpoint.
I remember one season in particular, when the idle talk of idle
persons had been drifting in and out during the day, while he sat
patiently on in the corner of the pretty room. Mrs. Thaxter was
steadily at work at her table, yet always hospitable, losing sight of
no cloud or shadow or sudden gleam of glory in the landscape, and
pointing the talk often with keen wit. Nevertheless, the idleness of
it all palled upon him. It was Sunday, too, and he longed for
something which would move us to "higher levels." Suddenly, as if the
idea struck him like an inspiration, he rose, and taking a volume of
Emerson from the little library he opened to one of the discourses,
and handing it to Celia Thaxter said:
"Read that aloud, will thee? I think we should all like to hear it."
She read it through at his bidding; then he took up the thread of the
discourse, and talked long and earnestly upon the beauty and necessity
of worship--a necessity consequent upon the nature of man, upon his
own weakness, and his consciousness of the Divine Spirit within him.
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