Today’s photo is of a book of Ralph Waldo Emerson’s Essays. Now I just really want to stop writing to dip into this book, too, along with Kate’s volume of poems of Sir Walter Scott, though I don’t dare handle this copy overly much. This edition is published by Belford Clarke & Co, the “Household Edition.” It was Henry’s, inscribed with his name and with the date: Jan. 1, 1888. There are some ancient pieces of moss pressed between the pages, one where the inscription lies and others interspersed in what seems a random way throughout the rest of the book. There’s also a newspaper clipping with a poem of Emerson’s pasted inside the front cover. The stitching is separated in several places inside, as if some parts of the book saw much use. Where did it come from? Did it inspire Henry in some way? Emerson was an individualist. How does that fit with Henry’s views? It raises more questions for me than it answers, sometimes, to examine some of these artifacts. Those questions are the best kind. They keep me thinking, imagining, wondering. And writing.
Tomorrow: some historical research from our weekend jaunt.