116 ELIZABETH CARY AGASSIZ 
The night we arrived here I was walking on the 
piazza with Agassiz; the village street so green and 
fresh last June was parched and dusty, and the katy- 
dids and crickets seemed singing by hundreds their 
high, sharp, meagre notes. I said to Agassiz, “I wish 
you knew the Elijah of Mendelssohn that you might 
feel as I do with this drought how wonderful the 
chorus is by which he describes the sufferings of the 
thirsty people and earth.” Do you remember how all 
the high, sharp notes of the instruments seem to give 
that meagre dry character which is in the aspect and 
all the sounds of nature after a long drought? The 
next day when the relief came I felt still more how 
perfectly the music expresses the actual thing, and I 
only wished I could hear in the midst of the drenching 
rain for which every living thing seemed giving thanks 
the “Thanks be to God. He laveth the thirsty land, 
the waters gather, they rush along, they rush along.” 
If we only had the best music ready for our needs, 
what a grand thing it would be at the breaking up of 
a drought from which the whole country has suffered 
to have those choruses sung in all the churches. But 
was n’t it —I was going to say, curious — but after 
all only quite natural, considering the truth of the 
composition, that you and I should both be reminded 
of it and speak of it at the same time? 
Do you know it was a real relief to me to hear that 
you had been at the Globe Theatre? I thought some- 
thing serious must be the matter with you when 
Fechter’s Theatre had been open for weeks and you 
had nothing to say about it. I hope you and I will go 
