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Updated: June 5, 2025
Her fingers stirred over the keys again, and Grieg's Papillon fluttered softly from flower to flower. He sat there, waiting and listening. From the light and airy butterfly, the music changed to Farwell's Norwegian Song. Hillard saw the lonely sea, the lonely twilight, the lonely gull wheeling seaward, the lonely little cottage on the cliffs, and the white moon in the far east.
But Hillard honestly admired his brilliant rival. "Who has a part with at this next exhibition?" I asked him one day, as I met him in the college yard. " * the Post," answered Hillard. "Why call him the Post?" said I. "He is a wooden creature," said Hillard. "Hear him and Charles Emerson translating from the Latin Domus tota inflammata erat.
"Not with the brand of cigars you are smoking; a lira-fifty each." "Well I'll try the native brand for a while, Trabucos." "Not in my immediate vicinity," Hillard objected. "No, we can't bail them out, but we can ease up their bills till money comes from home. Not one of them by this time will have a watch. O'Mally will remain sober from dire necessity. Poor Kitty Killigrew!
"Well, I have said that we shall meet again, and it must be so." "And your hat, as well as mine, is still in the Casino. The night is cold." The Italian tugged impatiently at his mustache and permitted his glance to wander over Hillard critically. No, a struggle, much as he longed for it, would not be wise. He swung round on his heel and walked rapidly down the street, much to Hillard's relief.
I said what I thought was best in reply, and told him that this was the spontaneous act of friends, who wished the privilege of expressing in this way their respect and affection, and was done only by those who thought it a privilege to do so. I mentioned Hillard as you desired, and also Mrs.
Faces were to be seen in that assembly that were never beheld in Concord before. Among these was the soldierly figure and flashing eye of the poet Whittier. Longfellow, Emerson, Lowell, Agassiz, Alcott and Hillard were present; and ex-President Pierce shook hands with Judge Hoar over Hawthorne's bier.
"You are, intellectually speaking, quite a puzzle to me," his friend George Hillard wrote to him, once. "How comes it that, with so thoroughly healthy an organization as you have, you have such a taste for the morbid anatomy of the human heart, and such a knowledge of it, too?
I want very much to know about and that charming girl..... Give me full particulars. Will you remember me cordially to Sumner, and say I thank him for his welcome letter? The like to Hillard, with many regards to himself and his wife, with whom I had one night a little conversation which I shall not readily forget.
The tramp of feet beyond the wall diverted them for a space. A troop of marksmen from the range were returning cityward. They were dirty and tired, yet none seemed discontented with his lot. They passed in a haze of dust. The man and woman resumed their chairs, and Hillard bent his head over the cup and stared at the circling tea-grounds in the bottom.
No, you shall not go! In Rome, at the carnivals, it is an old game. They will rob you." "You are dreaming. This is America; things are not done that way here. And nothing now can turn me aside." Hillard was all the while finishing his toilet. "I suppose not. But blindfolded!" "Take the number of the cab as I get in. If anything should happen, give the number to the police."
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