I knew
   Concentred in one heart their gentleness,
   That still grew gentler till its pulse was less
   For life than pity,—­I should yet be slow
   To bring my own heart nakedly below
   The palm of such a friend, that he should press
   My false, ideal joy and fickle woe
   Out to full light and knowledge.”

   Elizabeth Barrett.

VI.

JAMAICA PLAIN

* * * * *

I.

First impressions.

It was while Margaret was residing at Jamaica Plain, in the summer of 1839, that we first really met as friends, though for several years previous we had been upon terms of kindest mutual regard.  And, as the best way of showing how her wonderful character opened upon me, the growth of our acquaintance shall be briefly traced.

The earliest recollection of Margaret is as a schoolmate of my sisters, in Boston.  At that period she was considered a prodigy of talent and accomplishment; but a sad feeling prevailed, that she had been overtasked by her father, who wished to train her like a boy, and that she was paying the penalty for undue application, in nearsightedness, awkward manners, extravagant tendencies of thought, and a pedantic style of talk, that made her a butt for the ridicule of frivolous companions.  Some seasons later, I call to mind seeing, at the “Commencements” and “Exhibitions” of Harvard University, a girl, plain in appearance, but of dashing air, who was invariably the centre of a listening group, and kept their merry interest alive by sparkles of wit and incessant small-talk.  The bystanders called her familiarly, “Margaret,” “Margaret Fuller;” for, though young, she was already noted for conversational gifts, and had the rare skill of attracting to her society, not spirited collegians only, but men mature in culture and of established reputation.  It was impossible not to admire her fluency and fun; yet, though curiosity was piqued as to this entertaining personage, I never sought an introduction, but, on the contrary, rather shunned encounter with one so armed from head to foot in saucy sprightliness.

About 1830, however, we often met in the social circles of Cambridge, and I began to observe her more nearly.  At first, her vivacity, decisive tone, downrightness, and contempt of conventional standards, continued to repel.  She appeared too intense in expression, action, emphasis, to be pleasing, and wanting in that retenue which we associate with delicate dignity.  Occasionally, also, words flashed from her of such scathing satire, that prudence counselled the keeping at safe distance from a body so surcharged with electricity.  Then, again, there was an imperial—­shall it be said imperious?—­air, exacting deference to her judgments and loyalty to her behests, that