re, but what had
I done? I had inherited money. Douglas had started in poverty and
accumulated a fortune. I had done nothing but increase my wealth.
Douglas' activities had covered many fields, and now if he was to fall!
What was American liberty? How could their devotion to a liberty, bring
liberty to him? Douglas' wife was dead; Dorothy was an invalid.

In a few days I went around to see Abigail. That terrible evening
remained a subject that must sometime be discussed between us.

Abigail was never more gracious than on this occasion, and seemed to
understand that I needed to be lifted out of my reflections. She knew
what Dorothy's invalidism meant to me, and she was sympathetic with my
devotion to Douglas, in so far as it was an expression of human
friendship. She had a point of view about everything, which had been
developed and clarified by reading and travel. It came over me that I
had been nowhere in Europe, that I had been wandering up and down
America. My life in England was by now almost obliterated from my
consciousness. We were not long in the talk before she said that a man
should have more than one interest, that music or some form of art, or a
hobby in literature should be taken up as a relaxation from business.
What were politics but the interpretation of business? She showed me
some pictures she had been painting. A teacher had opened a studio in
Lake Street. Why did I not try my hand? I would find it a diversion from
other things. I had always loved etchings. I wished I could do that.
Well, this artist taught etching too. She inspired me at once to see
him. His name was Stoddard, and she gave me the number. I conceived an
enthusiasm for this new activity, thinking that it would take me out of
myself and away from the America that was closing around me with such
depressing effect.

Then Abigail and Aldington in supplement of each other began to recall
the names of men then living whom they characterized as light-bearers.
"Really," said Abigail, "there are only a few men of real importance in
America to-day. These politicians and orators--Seward, Sumner, even the
late Webster--amount to very little after all. They are even less than
Lowell, whom Margaret Fuller recently characterized as shallow and
doomed to oblivion. Longfellow is an adapter, a translator, a
simple-hearted man. Whittier--well, all of them have fallen more or
less under the moralistic influence of the country."

"That is what I like