precise written directions, signed with your separate names, or they will not be done so as to suit you.”[1]
Then comes a letter about the use of money itself; — a letter whose clear good sense would have surprised those who fancied her, in those days, a dreamer or a pedant.
“I wish you had said distinctly how much money you want. I send five dollars, which, perhaps, is not enough. Yet this makes twenty I have sent you since mother went away. So you see even your frugality does not enable you wholly to dispense with the circulating medium you so much despise, and whose use, when you have thought more deeply on these subjects, you will find to have been indispensable to the production of the arts, of literature, and all that distinguishes civilized man. It is abused like all good things, but without it you would not have had your Horace and Virgil, stimulated by whose society you read the woods and fields to more advantage than —— or —— [certain uneducated neighbors]. Well, enjoy your fields and trees, supplicating the Spirit of all to bring you clear light and full sight.”[2]
Then deeper chords are struck, this time in her diary: —
“October 1st [1842]. Anniversary of my father’s death. Seven years have passed, — a generation, — unspotted by regrets, and rich in thought and experience, though its gifts were bathed in tears oftentimes.
“October 2, Sunday. Dr. Channing left this world. A blameless life came to an end, — a high aspiration was transferred elsewhere. He could not have died at
