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the truth, for the peace and serenity of an undoubting, a truly religious faith. . . .
At the beginning of the second term, in the spring of 1841,
Dana was back at college and hard at work, but the struggle was brought to a sudden end by the complete failure of his eyes.
Writing to
Barrett, June 7th, he says:
... Be aware, however, O sagest of lawyers, that this is to be no lengthy epistle, as my eyes will not serve me for any length of time.
About six weeks ago through overmuch study they gave out, since which time I have learned my lessons for the most part by having them read to me. So you see that I can offer you, dear friend, in whom I do claim an interest, the sympathies of a fellow-sufferer.
I manage to do tolerably well in the recitation-room, though my favorite studies do not receive such close attention as if I could take the books into my own hand.
As to your invitation, if it had reached me a week ago, I doubt if I could have resisted it. But one afternoon last week, when my eyes were particularly troublesome, it occurred to me that nothing would be so serviceable to them as a visit to Buffalo.
Since then nothing else has been in my head.
I think continually of “old familiar faces” and friendly greetings, and imagine myself taking long walks and expounding the mysteries of spiritual philosophy to one of the most attentive listeners.
I mean, moreover, to have a meeting of the Coffee Club and enjoy one more of those noctes cenaeque deum.1
... One of my good friends, a classmate, is to lend me what funds I want, and so you see I cannot help going .... My next letter shall be longer.
I have many things to say to you.
This visit was made to
Buffalo as intended, and although his friends while there showed him every attention, and gave him much pleasure by their society, and by the outdoor
