17–23 May 1847

On the seashore at Nantucket I saw the play of the Atlantic with the coast. Here was wealth ; every wave reached a quarter of a mile along shore as it broke. There are no rich men, I said, to compare with these. Every wave is a fortune. One thinks of Etzlers and great projectors who will yet turn this immense waste strength to ac- count and save the limbs of human slaves. Ah, what freedom and grace and beauty with all this might 1 The wind blew back the foam from the top of each billow as it rolled in, like the hair of a woman in the wind. The freedom makes the observer feel as a slave. Our expression is so slender, thin, and cramp ; can we not learn here a generous eloquence ?