Appendix 111 



itself. He held his house as the steward of his friends. His 

 social genius never suffered a moment to drag wearily by. 

 No man was so necessarily devoted to his own affairs, - - no 

 host ever seemed so devoted to his guests. Those guests 

 were of the most agreeable kind, or, at least, they seemed so 

 in that house. Perhaps the interpreter of the House Beauti- 

 ful, she who - - in the poet's natural order - - was as "moon- 

 light unto sunlight," was the universal solvent. By day, 

 there were always books, conversation, driving, working, 

 lying on the lawn, excursions into the mountains across the 

 river, visits to beautiful neighboring places, boating, botan- 

 izing, painting, - - or whatever else could be done in the 

 country, and done in the pleasantest way. At evening, 

 there was music, - - fine playing and singing, for the guest 

 was thrice welcome who was musical, and the musical were 

 triply musical there, - - dancing, charades, games of every 

 kind, - - never suffered to flag, always delicately directed, - 

 and in due season some slight violation of the Maine Law. 

 Mr. Downing liked the Ohio wines, with which his friend, 

 Mr. Longworth, kept him supplied, and of which he said, with 

 his calm good sense, in the "Horticulturist," August, 1850, 

 -"We do not mean to say that men could not live and 

 breathe just as well if there were no such thing as wine 

 known; but that since the time of Noah men will not be con- 

 tented with merely living and breathing; and it is therefore 

 better to provide them with proper and wholesome food and 

 drink, than to put improper aliments within their reach." 

 Charades were a favorite diversion, in which several of his 

 most frequent guests excelled. He was always ready to 

 take part, but his reserve and self-consciousness interfered 

 with his success. His social enjoyment was always quiet. 

 He rarely laughed loud. He preferred rather to sit with a 

 friend and watch the dance or the game from a corner, than 

 to mingle in them. He wrote verses, but never showed 

 them. They were chiefly rhyming letters, clever and grace- 

 ful, to his wife, and her sisters, and some intimate friends, 

 and to a little niece, of whom he was especially fond. One 

 evening, after vainly endeavoring to persuade a friend that 



