closed itself in her manner and in her voice, the latter recalling that of Dorothea, in being like the voice of a soul that has once lived in an Æolian harp. It was low and deep, vibrating with sympathy."
At this period of her life, she was known among the residents of the vicinity as a quiet and retiring young lady of unusual learning, who was also an excellent housekeeper for her father. Her ability in conversation was also recognized, for, although she did not talk much, she never failed to say something worth hearing when she spoke, whether discussing profound topics of science or politics, or the simple affairs of her neighbors, in which she took an unaffected interest.
Among the more intimate friends whom she made at Coventry were Mr. and Mrs. Bray, of Rosehill, and at their house she met many distinguished people, all of whom soon learned to listen with attention and respect when she joined in the conversation. Sometimes it was very amusing to observe the astonishment displayed by authors and scientists who met her for the first time, when some incidental remark betrayed her unexpected knowledge of profound subjects. Upon one occasion an eminent doctor, venturing to quote Epictetus in the presence of this pale, gray-eyed, pensive young lady, was dazed at having her turn towards him and promptly, although with the utmost modesty and politeness, correct him in his Greek.
It was at Rosehill, too, that she made the acquaintance of Emerson, of whose essays she had been a frequent and appreciative reader. They had talked together but a short time when Emerson asked abruptly:
"What one book do you like best?"
"Rousseau's Confessions," she replied without hesitation.
"So do I," said he with a start of pleased surprise. "There is a point of sympathy between us."
