In September, 1877, the Bishop returned to Hadley,
after the family had left, on his way from his diocese
to the Triennial Convention in Boston. A few lines to
his youngest son, express the indefinable influence of
the scenes of his childhood, with those impressions of



S18 FREDERIC DAN HUNTINGTON

an autumn afternoon so beautifully portrayed in a
poem which he himself often repeated with deep appre-
ciation, "The Closing Scene," by Buchanan Read.
Sept. SO. 1877.
The old place never says so much as when it is stillest
and most deserted. It seems to have a kind of tender,
motherly pity for all of us who come and go. A slight
yellowish haze just tempers the full light that covers
the valley and the hills. The shadows are distinct.
There is only the least tinge of purple on the woods.
The river is like glass. Yesterday we took the boat out
of the water at the ferry-place, and it now lies careened
against the elm in front of the horse-bam. Carl walks
about in stately wonder. I have just been over to the
pasture, and presently Bethia is going with me behind
the hill.
In an account of the General Convention of 1877, in
the pages of the " Gospel Messenger, " Bishop Hunt-
ington expressed his constitutional distaste for exces-
sive discussion. " The moral law for deliberative Bod-
ies needs a special commandment: *Thou shalt not
talk over much.' Counting nothing but the cost in
time and pecuniary expense, the Church and Boston
Churchmen have just suflFered a fearful and needless
waste from the tongues of men who talk without excuse.
