As we linger, the pervading quiet becomes something more than mere silence, it acquires the air and sense of reserve: the impression is borne into our thought that these asleep here, who once freely gave us their richest and best, are withholding something from us now,—some newly-learned wisdom, some higher thought. Does "an awful spell bind them to silence," or are they vainly repeating to us in the tender monotone of the pines a message we cannot hear or cannot bear? Or have they ceased from all ken or care for earthly things? Do they no longer love this once beloved spot? Do they not rejoice in the beauty of this summer day and the sunshine that falls upon their windowless palace? Are they conscious of our reverent tread on the turf above them, of our low words of remembrance and affection? Do they care that we have come from far to bend over them here?
"For knowledge of all these things, we must"—as the greatest of this transcendent circle once said—"wait for to-morrow morning."
IN AND OUT OF LITERARY BOSTON
| In Boston | |
| Out of Boston | |
| I. | Cambridge; Elmwood, etc. |
| II. | Belmont; Wayside Inn; Homes of Whittier |
| III. | The Salem of Hawthorne; Whittier's Oak Knoll |
| IV. | Webster's Marsh-field; Brook Farm and other Shrines |
IN BOSTON