There had been a light fall of snow. It seemed as if winter had come in November. But in a few hours this aspect vanished; the snow melted like a dream; the zenith was a deep, molten blue, transfused with the pale sunshine, which is only seen in Indian-summer; a tender mist circled the horizon with a zone of purple. I could not stay in the office that afternoon, so infinitely sad, so infinitely lovely. I put aside the law-papers which I had been arranging for a case in which I was first to appear before a jury and make my maiden argument. The air, soft as that of summer and scented with the indescribable perfume of perishing leaves, came to me through the open window, with a message calling me abroad; I took up my hat, stepped out upon the pavement, and wandering along the avenue in the direction of the house, went in upon the lawn. I had thought to go out into the open country for a long walk; but my heart drew me and held me here. The language of all beauty, and of infinity itself, is love. The divine melancholy of music, the deep tranquillity of summer noons, the softened splendor of autumn days, haunting one with ineffable joy and sadness--what is the name of all this varying demonstration of beauty, but love? I walked beneath the trees, slowly, my feet nestling among the thickly-strewn leaves, and pressing a faint aroma from the moist earth. To and fro for a long time I rambled, thinking no tangible thoughts, but my soul silently filling, all the time, like a fountain fed by secret springs. To the back of the lawn, extending around and behind the flower-garden, was a little ascent, covered by a grove of elms and maples, in the midst of which was a summer-house which had been a favorite resort of Eleanor's. Hither I finally bent my steps, and seating myself, looked musingly upon the lovely prospect around and beneath me. The rustic temple opened toward the river, which was visible from here, rolling in its blue splendor across the exquisite landscape. There is a fascination in water which will keep the eyes fixed upon it through hours of reverie; I sat there, mindful of the near mountains, the purple mist, the white ships, the busy village, but gazing only at the blue ripples forever slipping away from the point of my observation. My spirit exhaled like the mist and ascended in aspiration. My grief aspired, and arose in passionate prayers to the white throne of the eternal justice--it arose in tears, etherealized and drawn up by the rays from the one great source and sun--the spirit of Love. I prayed and wept for _her_. No thought of myself mingled with these emotions.