There is still another issue on which comparison must be made. The question of nationality will for some time to come be an interesting one in any discussion of American authors. The American character is so relative, that it is only by a long series of contrasts, a careful study of the registering-plate of literature, that we shall come to the point of defining it. American quality in literature is not like Greek, German, French, English quality: those are each unified, and their component elements stoutly enough welded together to make what may be called a positive impression; but our distinctions are relative. The nearest and most important means that we have for measuring them is that of comparison with England; and anything strikingly original in American genius is found to be permanent in proportion as it maintains a certain relation to English literature, not quite easy to define. It is not one of hostility, for the best American minds thus far have had the sincerest kindliness toward the mother country; it involves, however, the claiming of separate standards of judgment. The primary division, both in the case of the New England Pilgrims and in that of our Revolutionary patriots, was based on clearer perceptions of certain truths on the part of the cisatlantic English; and this claiming of separate standards in literature is a continuation of that historic attitude. We are making a perpetual minority report on the rest of the world, sure that in time our voice will be an authoritative one. The attitude being a relative and not very positively predicable one, a singular integrity of judgment is required in sustaining it. Of this Poe exhibits nothing. It was a part of the ingrained rebellion in him, that he revolted against the moneyed mediocracy of this country,—a position in which he deserves much sympathy,—and perhaps this underlies his want of deep literary identification with the national character in general. But more probably his genius was a detonating agent which could have been convulsed into its meet activity anywhere, and had nothing to do with a soil. It is significant that he was taken up by a group of men in Paris, headed by Baudelaire and assisted by Theophile Gautier, as a sort of private demigod of art; and I believe he stands in high esteem with the Rossetti-Morris family of English poets. Irving, on the other hand, comes directly upon the ground of difference between the American and the English genius, but it is with the colors of a neutral. Irving's position was peculiar. He went to Europe young, and ripened his genius under other suns than those that imbrowned the hills of his native Hudson. He had won success enough through "Salmagundi" and "Knickerbocker's History" to give him the importance of an accredited literary ambassador from the Republic, in treating with a foreign audience; and he really did us excellent service abroad. This alone secures him an important place in our literary history. Particularly wise and dignified is the tone of his short chapter called "English Writers on America"; and this sentence from it might long have served in our days of fairer fame as a popular motto: "We have but to live on, and every day we live a whole volume of refutation." His friendship with Scott, also, was a delightful addition to the amenities of literature, and shall remain a goodly and refreshing memory to us always. Yet what he accomplished in this way for American literature at large, Irving compensated for with some loss of his own dignity. It cannot be denied that the success of "The Sketch-Book" led to an overdoing of his part in "Bracebridge Hall." "Salmagundi" was the first step in the path of palpable imitation of Addison's "Spectator"; in "The Sketch-Book," though taking some charming departures, the writer made a more refined attempt to produce the same order of effects so perfectly attained by the suave Queen Anne master; and in "Bracebridge Hall" the recollection of the Sir Roger de Coverley papers becomes positively annoying. It is not that the style of Addison is precisely reproduced, of course, but the general resemblance in manner is as close as it could well have been without direct and conscious copying, the memory of Addisonian methods is too apparent. Irving's real genius, which occasionally in his other writings emits delicious flashes, does not often assert itself in this work; and though he has the knack of using the dry point of Addison's humor, he doesn't achieve what etchers call "the burr" that ought to result from its use. Addison, too, stings his lines in with true aquafortis precision, and Irving's sketches are to his as pen-and-ink drawing to the real etching. But it was not only this lack of literary independence that belittled Irving's dignity. He had become so well satisfied with his post of mediator between the writers of the two nations, that it became paramount with him to preserve the good-will he had won in England, and this appears in the cautious and almost obsequious mien of "Bracebridge." One may trace it also, with amused pain, in his correspondence with Paulding,—honest, pathetic Paulding, a rabid miso-Briton who burned to write something truly American, and couldn't; whom Drake laughingly hails as
"The bard of the backwoods, The poet of cabbages, log-huts, and gin."
Irving was vexedly concerned at the violent outbreaks of his old coadjutor, directed against the British; yet, though they were foolish, they showed real pluck. But if we need other proof of the attitude which Irving was distinctly recognized to have taken up, we may turn to a page on which "The Edinburgh Review," unusually amiable toward him at first, thus vented its tyrannical displeasure at his excessive complaisance: "He gasped for British popularity [it said]: he came, and found it. He was received, caressed, applauded, made giddy: natural politeness owed him some return, for he imitated, admired, deferred to us.... It was plain he thought of nothing else, and was ready to sacrifice everything to obtain a smile or a look of approbation." In a less savage fashion we, too, may admit the not very pleasant truth here enunciated with such unjust extremeness. An interval of nearly forty years lies between the date of the "Sketch-Book" and "Bracebridge" and that of "Our Old Home"; the difference in tone fully corresponds to the lapse of time.
In the use of native material, of course, Irving was a pioneer, along with Cooper, and was in this quite different from Poe, who had no aptitude in that way. "Knickerbocker's History of New York" is too farcical to take a high position on this score, though it undoubtedly had a beneficial effect in stirring up pride and interest in local antiquities; but "Rip Van Winkle" and "The Legend of Sleepy Hollow" were valuable acquisitions so far as they went. Would that they had been wrought out with a more masterly touch; and would that Irving had penetrated further in this direction! But, though these Hudson legends will long keep his fame renewed, it will perhaps be chiefly as a historian that he will be prized. His pleasant compilation on Goldsmith, his "Mahomet," "Columbus," and "Conquest of Granada," though not too profound, fill an enviable niche in popular esteem; and his mellow and stately narrative of Washington's life is a work of enduring excellence. But these lie outside of our present discussion. Nor need we compare his achievements in native fiction with Hawthorne's, after the review we have been making of the latter's relation to New England.
Poe and Irving and Hawthorne have all met with acceptance in other countries, and their works have been translated into several languages. Irving has exercised no perceptible influence on literature at home or abroad; Poe has entered more or less into the workings of a school in England and a group in France. Hawthorne's position on the Continent has perhaps not been so much one of conquest as of receiving an abstract admiration; but he has taken much stronger hold of the Anglo-Saxon mind than either of the others, and it is probable that his share in inspiring noble literature in America will—as it has already begun to show itself an important one—become vastly greater in future. It is impossible, as we have seen, to fix an absolute ratio between these writers. Irving has a more human quality than Poe, but Poe is beyond dispute the more original of the two. Each, again, has something which Hawthorne does not possess. But, if we must attempt at all to reduce so intricate a problem to exact terms, the mutual position of the three may be stated in the equation, Poe plus Irving plus an unknown quantity equals Hawthorne.
THE LOSS AND THE GAIN.
The suddenness with which Hawthorne faded away and died, when at the zenith of his fame, is no less strange and sad and visionary now than it was a poignant anguish then. He returned from Europe somewhat lingeringly, as we have seen, knowing too well the difference between the regions he was quitting and the thinner, sharper, and more wasting atmosphere of a country where every one who has anything to give is constantly drawn upon from every side, and has less resource for intellectual replenishment than in other lands. His seven years in England and Italy had, on the whole, been a period of high prosperity, of warm and gratifying recognition, of varied and delightful literary encounter, in addition to the pleasure of sojourning among so many new and suggestive scenes. And when he found himself once more on the old ground, with the old struggle for subsistence staring him steadily in the face again, it is not difficult to conceive how a certain degree of depression would follow. Just as this reaction had set in, the breaking out of civil war threw upon Hawthorne, before he had time to brace himself for the shock, an immense burden of sorrowing sympathy. The conflict of feelings which it excited on the public side has been sketched; and that alone should have been enough to make the years of strife a time of continuous gloom and anxiety to him; but it would be losing sight of a very large element in his distress, not to add that he mourned over the multitude of private griefs which were the harvest of battle as acutely as if they had all been his own losses. His intense imagination burned them too deeply into his heart. How can we call this weakness, which involved such strength of manly tenderness and sympathy? "Hawthorne's life was shortened by the war," Mr. Lowell says. Expressing this view once, to a friend, who had served long in the Union army, I was met with entire understanding. He told me that his own father, a stanch Unionist, though not in military service, was as certainly brought to his death by the war as any of the thousands who fell in battle. In how wide and touchingly humane a sense may one apply to Hawthorne Marvell's line on Cromwell's death,—
"To Love and Grief the fatal writ was signed!"
His decline was gradual, and semi-conscious, as if from the first he foresaw that he could not outlive these trials. In April, 1862, he visited Washington, and wrote the article "Chiefly about War Matters" already alluded to. He has left this glimpse of himself at that time:—
"I stay here only while Leutze finishes a portrait, which I think will be the best ever painted of the same unworthy subject. One charm it must needs have,—an aspect of immortal jollity and well-to-do-ness; for Leutze, when the sitting begins, gives me a first-rate cigar, and when he sees me getting tired, he brings out a bottle of splendid champagne; and we quaffed and smoked yesterday, in a blessed state of mutual good-will, for three hours and a half, during which the picture made a really miraculous progress. Leutze is the best of fellows."
The trip was taken to benefit his health, which had already begun to give way; and though he wrote thus cheerily, he was by no means well. In another published note there is this postscript:—
"My hair really is not so white as this photograph, which I enclose, makes me. The sun seems to take an infernal pleasure in making me venerable,—as if I were as old as himself."
He had already, as we know, begun to meditate upon "The Dolliver Romance," trudging to and fro upon his hill-top, which was called, at home, "the mount of vision." But before proceeding with that, he began the series of essays composing "Our Old Home," not yet feeling strong enough for the more trying exertion of fiction. But the preparation of these, charming as they are, brought no exhilaration to his mind. "I am delighted," he writes to his publisher, "at what you tell me about the kind appreciation of my articles, for I feel rather gloomy about them myself.... I cannot come to Boston to spend more than a day, just at present. It would suit me better to come for a visit when the spring of next year is a little advanced, and if you renew your hospitable proposition then, I shall probably be glad to accept it; though I have now been a hermit so long, that the thought affects me somewhat as it would to invite a lobster or a crab to step out of his shell."
His whole tone with regard to "Our Old Home" seems to have been one of fatigue and discouragement. He had, besides, to deal with the harassing question of the dedication to Franklin Pierce, which he solved in this manly and admirable letter to his publisher:—
"I thank you for your note of the 15th instant, and have delayed my reply thus long in order to ponder deeply on your advice, smoke cigars over it, and see what it might be possible for me to do towards taking it. I find that it would be a piece of poltroonery in me to withdraw either the dedication or the dedicatory letter. My long and intimate personal relations with Pierce render the dedication altogether proper, especially as regards this book, which would have had no existence without his kindness; and if he is so exceedingly unpopular that his name is enough to sink the volume, there is so much the more need that an old friend should stand by him. I cannot, merely on account of pecuniary profit or literary reputation, go back from what I have deliberately felt and thought it right to do; and if I were to tear out the dedication, I should never look at the volume again without remorse and shame. As for the literary public, it must accept my book precisely as I think fit to give it, or let it alone."
By this time, the energy requisite for carrying on the Romance had sunk still lower, so that he wrote:—
"I can't tell you when to expect an instalment of the Romance, if ever. There is something preternatural in my reluctance to begin. I linger at the threshold, and have a perception of very disagreeable phantasms to be encountered if I enter. I wish God had given me the faculty of writing a sunshiny book."
And, a little later:—
"I don't see much probability of my having the first chapter of the Romance ready so soon as you want it. There are two or three chapters ready to be written, but I am not yet robust enough to begin, and I feel as if I should never carry it through."
His inability to work has been illustrated in the numerous bulletins of this period published by Mr. Fields: they show him at times despondent, as in the extracts above, then again in a state of semi-resolution. At another time there is mixed presentiment and humor in his report.
"I am not quite up to writing yet, but shall make an effort as soon as I see any hope of success. You ought to be thankful that (like most other broken-down authors) I do not pester you with decrepit pages, and insist upon your accepting them as full of the old spirit and vigor. That trouble, perhaps, still awaits you, after I shall have reached a further stage of decay. Seriously, my mind has, for the present, lost its temper and its fine edge, and I have an instinct that I had better kept quiet. Perhaps I shall have a new spirit of vigor, if I wait quietly for it; perhaps not."
But over all these last notes there hangs a melancholy shadow that makes the flickering humor even sadder than the awesome conviction that he has done with writing. How singular the mingled mood of that last letter, in which he grimly jests upon the breaking-down of his literary faculty! Here he announces, finally: "I hardly know what to say to the public about this abortive Romance, though I know pretty well what the case will be. I shall never finish it." Yet the cause was not so much the loss of literary power, as the physical exhaustion that had already worn him away beyond recovery. He longed for England; and possibly if he could have gone thither, the voyage, the milder climate, and the sense of rest that he would have felt there, might have restored him. He had friends in this country, however, who made attempts to break up the disastrous condition into which he had so unexpectedly come. In May of 1863, when "Our Old Home" was printing, he received from his friend Mr. Lowell this most charming invitation to come to Cambridge:—
MY DEAR HAWTHORNE:—I hope you have not forgotten that during "anniversary week" you were to make me a little anniversary by a visit? I have been looking forward to it ever so long. My plan is that you come on Friday, so as to attend the election-meeting of our club, and then stay over Sunday, and Monday, and Tuesday, which is the last day of my holidays. How will that do? I am glad to hear your book is going through the press, and you will be nearer your proof-sheets here. I have pencils of all colors for correcting in all moods of mind,—red for sanguine moments when one thinks there is some use in writing at all, blue for a modest depression, and black for times when one is satisfied there is no longer an intelligent public nor one reader of taste left in the world. You shall have a room to yourself, nearly as high and quite as easy of access as your tower, and I pledge myself that my crows, cat-birds, orioles, chimbley-swallows, and squirrels shall present you with the freedom of their city in a hollow walnut, so soon as you arrive.
Now will you write and say when you are to be expected? I assure you I have looked forward to your coming as one of my chiefest spring pleasures, ranking it with the advent of the birds.
Always cordially yours,
J. R. LOWELL.
"I have smoked a cigar over your kind invitation," wrote Hawthorne, in answer, "and mean to come. There is a little bit of business weighing upon me (literary business of course, an article for the magazine and for my volume, which I ought to have begun and finished long ago), but I hope to smash it in a day or two, and will meet you at the club on Saturday. I shall have very great pleasure in the visit."
But, at the last moment, he was obliged to give it up, being detained by a cold. And there seemed indeed a fatality which interfered with all attempts to thwart the coming evil. At the beginning of April, 1864, completely broken down, yet without apparent cause, he set out southward with Mr. William Ticknor. On arriving at Philadelphia he began to improve; but Mr. Ticknor's sudden death overthrew the little he had gained, and caused him to sink still more. It is not my purpose here to dwell upon the sad and unbeautiful details of a last illness: these things would make but a harsh closing chord in the strain of meditation on Hawthorne's life which we have been following out,—a life so beautiful and noble that to surround its ending with the remembrance of mere mortal ailment has in it something of coarseness. But it was needful to show in what way this great spirit bowed beneath the weight of its own sympathy with a national woe. Even when Dr. Holmes saw him in Boston, though "his aspect, medically considered, was very unfavorable," and though "he spoke as if his work were done, and he should write no more," still "there was no failing noticeable in his conversational powers." "There was nothing in Mr. Hawthorne's aspect," wrote Dr. Holmes, "that gave warning of so sudden an end as that which startled us all." He passed on into the shadow as if of his own will; feeling that his country lay in ruins, that the human lot carried with it more hate and horror and sorrow than he could longer bear to look at; welcoming—except as those dear to him were concerned—the prospect of that death which he alone knew to be so near. It was on the 19th of May, 1864, that the news came from Plymouth, in New Hampshire,—whither he had gone with Ex-President Pierce,—that Hawthorne was dead. Afterward, it was recalled with a kind of awe that through many years of his life Hawthorne had been in the habit, when trying a pen or idly scribbling at any time, of writing the number sixty-four; as if the foreknowledge of his death, which he showed in the final days, had already begun to manifest itself in this indirect way long before. Indeed, he had himself felt that the number was connected with his life in some fatal way. Five days later he was carried to Sleepy Hollow, the beautiful cemetery where he had been wont to walk among the pines, where once when living at the Manse he had lain upon the grass talking to Margaret Fuller, when Mr. Emerson came upon them, and smiled, and said the Muses were in the woods that day.
A simple stone, with the single word "Hawthorne" cut upon it, was placed above him. He had wished that there should be no monument. He liked Wordsworth's grave at Grasmere, and had written, "It is pleasant to think and know that he did not care for a stately monument." Longfellow and Lowell and Holmes, Emerson and Louis Agassiz, and his friends Pierce, and Hillard, with Ellery Channing, and other famous men, assembled on that peaceful morning to take their places in the funeral train. Some who had not known him in life came long distances to see him, now, and ever afterward bore about with them the memory of his aspect, strong and beautiful, in his last repose. The orchards were blossoming; the roadside-banks were blue with violets, and the lilies of the valley, which were Hawthorne's favorites among the flowers, had come forth in quiet companies, to look their last on his face, so white and quiet too. So, while the batteries that had murdered him roared sullenly in the distant South, the rites of burial were fulfilled over the dead poet. Like a clear voice beside the grave, as we look back and listen, Longfellow's simple, penetrating chant returns upon the ear.
In vain to sum up, here, the loss unspeakable suffered in Hawthorne's death; and no less vain the attempt to fix in a few words the incalculable gain his life has left with us. When one remembers the power that was unexhausted in him still, one is ready to impeach cold Time and Fate for their treason to the fair prospect that lay before us all, in the continuance of his career. We look upon these few great works, that may be numbered on the fingers of a hand, and wonder what good end was served by the silent shutting of those rich pages that had just begun to open. We remember the tardy recognition that kept the fountain of his spirit so long half concealed, and the necessities that forced him to give ten of his best years to the sterile industry of official duties. But there are great compensations. Without the youthful period of hopes deferred, Hawthorne, as we have seen, would not have been the unique force, the high, untrammelled thinker that be became through that fortunate isolation; wanting the uncongenial contact of his terms at Boston and Salem and Liverpool, it may be that he could not have developed his genius with such balance of strength as it now shows; and, finally, without the return to his native land, the national fibre in him would have missed its crowning grace of conscientiousness. He might in that case have written more books, but the very loss of these, implying as it does his pure love of country, is an acquisition much more positively valuable.
There is a fitness, too, in the abrupt breaking off of his activity, in so far as it gives emphasis to that incompleteness of any verbal statement of truth, which he was continually insisting upon with his readers.
Hawthorne, it is true, expanded so constantly, that however many works he might have produced, it seems unlikely that any one of them would have failed to record some large movement in his growth; and therefore it is perhaps to be regretted that his life could not have been made to solely serve his genius, so that we might have had the whole sweep of his imagination clearly exposed. As it is, he has not given us a large variety of characters; and Hester, Zenobia, and Miriam bear a certain general likeness one to another. Phoebe, however, is quite at the opposite pole of womanhood; Hilda is as unlike any of them as it is easy to conceive of her being; and Priscilla, again, is a feminine nature of unique calibre, as weird but not so warm as Goethe's Mignon, and at the same time a distinctly American type, in her nervous yet captivating fragility. In Priscilla and Phoebe are embodied two widely opposed classes of New England women. The male characters, with the exception of Donatello and Hollingsworth, are not so remarkable as the feminine ones: Coverdale and Kenyon come very close together, both being artistic and both reflectors for the persons that surround them; and Dimmesdale is to some extent the same character,—with the artistic escape closed upon his passions, so that they turn within and ravage his heart,—arrested and altered by Puritan influences. Chillingworth is perhaps too devilish a shape of revenge to be discussed as a human individual. Septimius, again, is distinct; and the characterization of Westervelt, in "Blithedale," slight as it is, is very stimulating. Perhaps, after all, what leads us to pronounce upon the whole fictitious company a stricture of homogeneity is the fact that the author, though presenting us each time with a set of persons sufficiently separate from his previous ones, does not emphasize their differences with the same amount of external description that we habitually depend upon from a novelist. The similarity is more in the author's mode of presentation than in the creations themselves.
This monotone in which all the personages of his dramas share is nearly related with some special distinctions of his genius. He is so fastidious in his desire for perfection, that he can scarcely permit his actors to speak loosely or ungrammatically: though retaining their essential individuality, they are endowed with the author's own delightful power of expression. This outward phasis of his work separates it at once from that of the simple novelist, and leads us to consider the special applicability to it of the term "romance." He had not the realistic tendency, as we usually understand that, but he possessed the power to create a new species of fiction. For the kind of romance that he has left us differs from all compositions previously so called. It is not romance in the sense of D'Urfe's or Scuderi's; it is very far from coming within the scope of Fielding's "romances"; and it is entirely unconnected with the tales of the German Romantic school. It is not the romance of sentiment; nor that of incident, adventure, and character viewed under a worldly coloring: it has not the mystic and melodramatic bent belonging to Tieck and Novalis and Fouque. There are two things which radically isolate it from all these. The first is its quality of revived belief. Hawthorne, as has been urged already, is a great believer, a man who has faith; his belief goes out toward what is most beautiful, and this he finds only in moral truth. With him, poetry and moral insight are sacredly and indivisibly wedded, and their progeny is perfect beauty. This unsparingly conscientious pursuit of the highest truth, this metaphysical instinct, found in conjunction with a varied and tender appreciation of all forms of human or other life, is what makes him so decidedly the representative of a wholly new order of novelists. Belief, however, is, not what he has usually been credited with, so much as incredulity. But the appearance of doubt is superficial, and arises from his fondness for illuminating fine but only half-perceptible traces of truth with the torch of superstition. Speaking of the supernatural, he says in his English journal: "It is remarkable that Scott should have felt interested in such subjects, being such a worldly and earthly man as he was; but then, indeed, almost all forms of popular superstition do clothe the ethereal with earthly attributes, and so make it grossly perceptible." This observation has a still greater value when applied to Hawthorne himself. And out of this questioning belief and transmutation of superstition into truth—for such is more exactly his method—proceeds also that quality of value and rarity and awe-enriched significance, with which he irradiates real life until it is sublimed to a delicate cloud-image of the eternal verities.
If these things are limitations, they are also foundations of a vast originality. Every greatness must have an outline. So that, although he is removed from the list of novelists proper, although his spiritual inspiration scares away a large class of sympathies, and although his strictly New England atmosphere seems to chill and restrain his dramatic fervor, sometimes to his disadvantage, these facts, on the other hand, are so many trenches dug around him, fortifying his fair eminence. Isolation and a certain degree of limitation, in some such sense as this, belong peculiarly to American originality. But Hawthorne is the embodiment of the youth of this country; and though he will doubtless furnish inspiration to a long line of poets and novelists, it must be hoped that they, likewise, will stand for other phases of its development, to be illustrated in other ways. No tribute to Hawthorne is less in accord with the biddings of his genius than that which would merely make a school of followers.
It is too early to say what position Hawthorne will take in the literature of the world; but as his influence gains the ascendant in America, by prompting new and un-Hawthornesque originalities, it is likely also that it will be made manifest in England, according to some unspecifiable ratio. Not that any period is to be distinctly colored by the peculiar dye in which his own pages are dipped; but the renewed tradition of a highly organized yet simple style, and still more the masculine tenderness and delicacy of thought and the fine adjustment of aesthetic and ethical obligations, the omnipresent truthfulness which he carries with him, may be expected to become a constituent part of very many minds widely opposed among themselves. I believe there is no fictionist who penetrates so far into individual consciences as Hawthorne; that many persons will be found who derive a profoundly religious aid from his unobtrusive but commanding sympathy. In the same way, his sway over the literary mind is destined to be one of no secondary degree. "Deeds are the offspring of words," says Heine; "Goethe's pretty words are childless." Not so with Hawthorne's. Hawthorne's repose is the acme of motion; and though turning on an axis of conservatism, the radicalism of his mind is irresistible; he is one of the most powerful because most unsuspected revolutionists of the world. Therefore, not only is he an incalculable factor in private character, but in addition his unnoticed leverage for the thought of the age is prodigious. These great abilities, subsisting with a temper so modest and unaffected, and never unhumanized by the abstract enthusiasm for art, place him on a plane between Shakespere and Goethe. With the universality of the first only just budding within his mind, he has not so clear a response to all the varying tones of lusty human life, and the individuality in his utterance amounts, at particular instants, to constraint. With less erudition than Goethe, but also less of the freezing pride of art, he is infinitely more humane, sympathetic, holy. His creations are statuesquely moulded like Goethe's, but they have the same quick music of heart-throbs that Shakespere's have. Hawthorne is at the same moment ancient and modern, plastic and picturesque. Another generation will see more of him than we do; different interpreters will reveal other sides. As a powerful blow suddenly descending may leave the surface it touches unmarked, and stamp its impress on the substance beneath, so his presence will more distinctly appear among those farther removed from him than we. A single mind may concentrate your vision upon him in a particular way; but the covers of any book must perforce shut out something of the whole, as the trees in a vista narrow the landscape.
Look well at these leaves I lay before you; but having read them throw the volume away, and contemplate the man himself.
In May, 1870, an article was published in the "Portland Transcript," giving some of the facts connected with Hawthorne's sojourn in Maine, as a boy. This called out a letter from Alexandria, Va., signed "W. S.," and purporting to come from a person who had lived at Raymond, in boyhood, and had been a companion of Hawthorne's. He gave some little reminiscences of that time, recalling the fact that Hawthorne had read him some poetry founded on the Tarbox disaster, already mentioned. [Footnote: See ante, p. 89.] Himself he described as having gone to sea at twenty, and having been a wanderer ever since. In. speaking of the date of the poetry, "We could not have been more than ten years old," he said. This, of course, is a mistake, the accident having happened in 1819, when Hawthorne was fourteen. And it is tolerably certain that he did not even visit Raymond until he was twelve.
The letter called out some reminiscences from Mr. Robinson Cook, of Bolster's Mills, in Maine, who had also known Hawthorne as a boy; some poetry on the Tarbox tragedy was also found, and printed, which afterward proved to have been written by another person; and one or two other letters were published, not especially relevant to Hawthorne, but concerning the Tarbox affair. After this, "W. S." wrote again from Alexandria (November 23, 1870), revealing the fact that he had come into possession, several years before, of the manuscript book from which he afterward sent extracts. The book, he explained, was found by a man named Small, who had assisted in moving a lot of furniture, among it a "large mahogany bookcase" full of old books, from the old Manning House. This was several years before the civil war, and "W. S." met Small in the army, in Virginia. He reported that the book—"originally a bound blank one not ruled," and "gnawed by mice or eaten by moths on the edges"—contained about two hundred and fifty pages, and was written throughout, "the first part in a boyish hand though legibly, and showing in its progress a marked improvement in penmanship." The passages reprinted in the present volume were sent by him, over the signature "W. Sims," to the "Transcript," and published at different dates (February 11, 1871; April 22, 1871). Their appearance called out various communications, all tending to establish their genuineness; but, beyond the identification of localities and persons, and the approximate establishing of dates, no decisive proof was forthcoming. Sims himself, however, was recalled by former residents near Raymond; and there seemed at least much inferential proof in favor of the notes. A long silence ensued upon the printing of the second portion; and at the end of 1871 it was made known that Sims had died at Pensacola, Florida. The third and last supposed extract from Hawthorne's note-book was sent from Virginia again, in 1873 (published June 21 of that year), by a person professing to have charge of Sims's papers. This person was written to by the editors of the "Transcript," but no reply has ever been received. A relative of Hawthorne in Salem also wrote to the Pensacola journal in which Sims's death was announced, making inquiry as to its knowledge of him and as to the source of the mortuary notice. No reply was ever received from this quarter, either. Sims, it is said, had been in the secret service under Colonel Baker, of dreaded fame in war-days; and it may be that, having enemies, he feared the notoriety to which his contributions to journalism might expose him, and decided to die,—at least so far as printer's ink could kill him. All these circumstances are unfortunate, because they make the solution of doubts concerning the early notes quite impossible, for the present.
The fabrication of the journal by a person possessed of some literary skill and familiar with the localities mentioned, at dates so long ago as 1816 to 1819, might not be an impossible feat, but it is an extremely improbable one. It is not likely that an ordinary impostor would hit upon the sort of incident selected for mention in these extracts. Even if he drew upon circumstances of his own boyhood, transferring them to Hawthorne's, he must possess a singularly clear memory, to recall matters of this sort; and to invent them would require a nice imaginative faculty. One of the first passages, touching the "son of old Mrs. Shane" and the "son of the Widow Hawthorne," is of a sort to entirely evade the mind of an impostor. The whole method of observation, too, seems very characteristic. If the portion descriptive of a raft and of the manners of the lumbermen be compared with certain memoranda in the "American Note-Books" (July 13 and 15, 1837), derived from somewhat similar scenes, a general resemblance in the way of seizing characteristics will be observed. Of course, if the early notes are fabrications, it may be that the author of them drew carefully after passages of the maturer journal, and this among others. But the resemblance is crossed by a greater youthfulness in the early notes, it seems to me, which it would be hard to produce artificially. The cool and collected style of the early journal is not improbable in a boy like Hawthorne, who had read many books and lived much in the companionship of older persons. Indeed, it is very much like the style of "The Spectator" of 1820. A noticeable coincidence is, that the pedler, Dominicus Jordan, should be mentioned in both the journal and "The Spectator." The circumstance that the dates should all have been said to be missing from the manuscript book is suspicious. Yet the last extract has the month and year appended, August, 1819. What is more important is, that the date of the initial inscription is given as 1816; and at the time when this was announced it had not been ascertained even by Hawthorne's own family and relatives that he had been at Raymond so early. But since the publications in the "Transcript," some letters have come to light of which I have made use; and one of these, bearing date July 21, 1818, to which I have alluded in another connection, speaks of Raymond from actual recollection. "Does the Pond look the same as when I was there? It is almost as pleasant at Nahant as at Raymond. I thought there was no place that I should say so much of." The furnisher of the notes, if he was disingenuous, might indeed have remembered that Hawthorne was in Maine about 1816; he may also have relied on a statement in the "Transcript's" editorial, to the effect that Hawthorne was taken to Raymond in 1814. In that editorial, it is also observed: "Hawthorne was then a lad of ten years." I have already said that Sims refers to the period of the verses on the Tarboxes as being a time when he and Hawthorne were "not more than ten years old." This, at first, would seem to suggest that he was relying still further upon the editorial. But if he had been taking the editorial statement as a basis for fabrication, it is not likely that he would have failed to ascertain exactly the date of the freezing of Mr. and Mrs. Tarbox, which was 1819. The careless way in which he alludes to this may have been the inadvertence of an impostor trying to make his account agree with one already published; but it is more likely that the sender of the notes did not remember the precise year in which the accident occurred, and was confused by the statement of the "Transcript." An impostor must have taken more pains, one would think. It must also be noticed that "the Widow Hawthorne" is spoken of in the notes. Sims, however, in his preliminary letter, refers to the fact that "the universal pronunciation of the name in Raymond was Hathorn,—the first syllable exactly as the word 'hearth' was pronounced at that time"; and the explanation of the spelling in the notes doubtless is that Sims, or whoever transcribed the passage, changed it as being out of keeping with the now historic form of the name. It is possible that further changes were also made by the transcriber; and a theory which has some color is, that the object in keeping the original manuscript out of the way may have been, to make it available for expansions and embellishments, using the actual record as a nucleus.
The theme referred to in Chapter III. is given in full below. After the earlier portion of the present essay had been stereotyped, an article by Professor G. T. Packard, on Bowdoin College, was published in "Scribner's Monthly," which contains this mention of Hawthorne:—
"The author's college life was prophetic of the after years, when he so dwelt apart from the mass of men, and yet stirred so deeply the world's sensibilities and delighted its fancy. His themes were written in the sustained, finished style that gives to his mature productions an inimitable charm. The late Professor Newman, his instructor in rhetoric, was so impressed with Hawthorne's powers as a writer, that he not infrequently summoned the family circle to share in the enjoyment of reading his compositions. The recollection is very distinct of Hawthorne's reluctant step and averted look, when he presented himself at the Professor's study, and with girlish diffidence submitted a composition which no man in his class could equal.... When the class was graduated, Hawthorne could not be persuaded to join them in having their profiles cut in paper, the only class picture of the time; nor did he take part in the Commencement exercises. His classmates understood that he intended to be a writer of romance, but none anticipated his remarkable development and enduring fame. It seems strange that among his admirers no one has offered him a fitting tribute by founding the Hawthorne Professorship of English Literature in the college where, under the tutelage of the accomplished and appreciative Professor Newman, he was stimulated to cultivate his native gift."
DE PATRIS CONSCRIPTIS ROMANORUM.
Senatum Romanorum jam primum institutum, simplicem siniul atquo praestantissimuni fuisse sentiant onmes. Imperium fint, quod populo aec avaritis nee luxuria vitiato optimum videretar. Lecti fuerunt senatores, non qui ambitiose potestatem eupiere, sesl qui senectute, qui sapientia, qui virtute bellica vel privata insigues, in republica plurimam pollebant. Hominum consiliis virtute tam singulari praeditorum paruit populus libenter atque senatores at patres civilius venerati. Studium illis paternum adhibuere. Nulla unquam respublica, quam turn Romana, nec sanctior nec beatior t'uit; iis temporibus etenim solum in publicum commodum principes administrabant; fidemque principibus populi habetant. Sed virtute prisca reipublierc perdita, inimicitus mutuis patres plebesque flagrare coeperunt, alienaque prosequi. Senatus in populum tyrannice saeviit, atque hostem se monstravit potiue quam custodem reipubliere. Concitatur vulgus studio libertatis repetendre, alque per multa secula patrum plebisque contentiones historia Romana memorat; patribus pristinam auctoriratem servare conatis, liccentiaque plebis omnia jura spernante. Hoc modo usque ad Panieum bellum, res se habebant. Tun pericula externa discordiam domesticam superabant, reipublicaeque studium priscam patribus sapientiam, priscam populis reverentiam redundit. Hae aetate omnibus virtutibus cnituit Roma. Senatus, jure omnium consensu facto, opes suas prope ad inopiam plebis aequavit; patriaeque solum amore gloria quaesita, pecunia niluii habita est. Sed quuam Carthaginem reformidavit non diutius Roma, rediit respublica ad vitia pristina. Patres luxuria solum populis praestiterunt, et vestigia eorum populi secuti sunt. Senatus auctoritatem, ex illo ipso tempore, annus unusquisque diminuit, donce in aerate Angasti interitus nobilium humiliumque delectus omnino fere dignitatem conficerunt. Augustus equidem antiquam magnificentiam patribus reddidit, sed fulgor tantum liut sine fervore. Nunquam in republica senatoribus potestates recuperatae. Postremum species etiam amissa est.
THE ROMAN SENATE.
Every one perceives that the Roman Senate, as it was originally constituted, was a no less simple than illustrious body. It was a sovereignty which appeared most desirable to a populace vitiated neither by avarice nor luxury. The senators were chosen, not from those who were ambitious of power, but those who wielded the largest influence in the Republic through wisdom and warlike valor or private virtue. The citizens bowed willingly to the counsels of men endowed with such singular worth, and venerated the senators as fathers. The latter exercised a paternal care. No republic ever was holier or more blessed than that of Rome at this time; for in those days the rulers administered for the public convenience alone, and the people had faith in their rulers. But, the pristine virtue of the Republic lost, the fathers and the commonalty began to blaze forth with mutual hostilities, and to seek after the possessions of others. The Senate vented its wrath savagely upon the people, and showed itself rather the enemy than the guardian of the Republic. The multitude was aroused by the desire of recovering liberty, and through a very long period Roman history recounts the contentions of the fathers and the commonalty; the fathers attempting to preserve their old authority, and the license of the commons scorning every law. Affairs remained in this condition until the Punic War. Then foreign perils prevailed over domestic discord, and love of the Republic restored to the fathers their early wisdom, to the people their reverence. At this period, Rome shone with every virtue. The Senate, through the rightfully obtained consent of all parties, nearly equalized its power with the powerlessness of the commonalty; and glory being sought solely through love of the fatherland, wealth was regarded as of no account. But when Rome no longer dreaded Carthage, the commonwealth returned to its former vices. The fathers were superior to the populace only in luxury, and the populace followed in their footsteps. From that very time, every year diminished the authority of the Senate, until in the age of Augustus the death of the nobles and the selection of insignificant men almost wholly destroyed its dignity. Augustus, to be sure, restored to the fathers their ancient magnificence, but, great as was the fire (so to speak), it was without real heat. Never was the power of the senators recovered. At last even the appearance of it vanished.
The lists of books referred to in Chapter IV. were recorded by different hands, or in different ways at various dates, so that they have not been made out quite satisfactorily. Some of the authors named below were taken out a great many times, but the number of the volume is given in only a few cases. It would seem, for example, that Voltaire's complete works were examined by Hawthorne, if we judge by his frequent application for some part of them, and the considerable number of volumes actually mentioned. In this and in other cases, the same volume is sometimes called for more than once. To make the matter clearer here, I have reduced the entries to a simple list of the authors read, without attempting to show how often a particular one was taken up. Few or none of them were read consecutively, and the magazines placed together at the end of my list were taken out at short intervals throughout the different years.
Oeuvres de Voltaire. Memoire de Literature. Liancourt. Oeuvres de Rousseau. Mass. Historical Collections. Trial and Triumph of Faith. Oeuvres de Pascal. Varenius' Geography. Mickle's Lucian. Dictionnaire des Sciences. Pamela. (Vols. I., II.) Life of Baxter. Tournefort's Voyage. Swift's Works. Hitt on Fruit-Trees. Bibliotheca Americana. Ames's Antiquities. Hamilton's Works. Gifford's Juvenal. Allen's Biographical Dictionary. Fenelon. Academie Royale des Inscriptions. Mather's Apology. Vertol's History of Sweden. Taylor's Sermons. Life of Luckington. L'an 2440. Montague's Letters. English Botany. (3 vols.) Gay's Poems. Inchbald's Theatre. Sowerby's English Botany. Crabbe's Borough. Crabbe's Bibliographical Dictionary. Collection of Voyages (Hakluyt's?). Lives of the Admirals. British Zooelogy.
Los Eruditos. Connoisseur. Camilla. Gifford's Persius. Bartram's Travels. Humphrey's Works. Voltaire. Pennant's British Zoology. Mandeville's Travels. Rehearsal Transposed. Gay's Poems. Pompey the Little. Shaw's General Zoology. Philip's Poems. Sowerby's English Botany. Racine. Corneille. Wilkinson's Memoirs and Atlas. History of the Shakers. The Confessional. Calamy's Life of Baxter. Academie Royale des Inscripts. Essais de Montaigne. (Vols. I., II., III., IV.) Cadell's Journey through Italy and Carniola. Cobbet's Rule in France. Temple's Works. (Vols. I., II., III.) Asiatic Researches. Cochran's Tour in Siberia. Chardin's Travels. Brandt's History of the Reformation. Russell's Natural History. Aleppo. (Vol. I.) Answer to the Fable of the Bees. Hanway's Travels. Memoirs of C. J. Fox. Bayle's Critical Dictionary. (Vols. II., V., VI.) State Trials. (Vols. I., II., IV., V., VI.) Tales of a Traveller. Dictionnaire des Sciences. (Vol. XVII.) Bacon's Works. (Vol. II.) Gordon's Tacitus. Colquhoun on the Police. Cheyne on Health. Pope's Homer. (Vol I.) Letters: De Maintenon. (Vol. IX.) Reichard's Germany. Oeuvres de Rousseau. Notes on the West Indies by Prichard. Crishull's Travels in Turkey.
Clarendon's Tracts. History of England. Prose Works of Walter Scott. (Vols. III., V., VI.) Feltham's Resolves. Roscoe's Sovereigns. Histoire de l'Academie. South America. Savages of New Zealand. Stackhouse's History of the Bible. Dryden's Poems. Tucker's Light of Nature. History of South Carolina. Poinsett's Notes on Mexico. Brace's Travels. Browne's Jamaica. Collins's New South Wales. Broughton's Dictionary. Seminole War. Shaw's Zoology. Reverie. Gifford's Pitt. Curiosities of Literature. Massinger. Literary Recollections. Coleridge's Aids to Reflection. Coleridge, Shelley, and Keats. Paris and Fonblanque. Elia. Gardens and Menagerie. Medical Jurisprudence. History of Paris. Scott's Prose Works. Kittell's Specimens American Poetry. Lister's Journey. Annals of Salem. Library of Old English Prose Writers. Memoirs of Canning. Miscellaneous Works of Scott. Jefferson's Writings. History of Andover. Good's Book of Nature. History of Haverhill. Madden's Travels. (Vols. I., II.) Riedesel's Memoirs. Boston Newspapers (1736, 1739, 1754, 1762, 1771, 1783). Drake's Mornings in Spring. Drake's Evenings in Autumn. Anecdotes of Bowyer. Gouverneur Morris. (Vols. I., II.) Bryan Walton's Memoirs. Moses Mendelssohn. Collingwood. Felt's Annals. Strutt's Sports and Pastimes. Schiller. Mrs. Jameson. (2 vols.) Thatcher's Medical Biography. History of Plymouth. Crabbe's Universal Dictionary. Lewis's History of Lynn. A Year in Spain, by a Young American. (Vols. I., II.) Croker's Boswell. Deane's History of Scituate. Diplomatic Correspondence. (Vols. I., II.) Temple's Travels. (Vol. II.) Fuller's Holy State. Remarkables of Increase Mather. History of Portland. (Vols. I., II.) Practical Tourist. Elements of Technology. Heber's Life, by Taylor. Ductor Substantium. Heber's Travels in India. (Vols. I., II.) Byron's Works. Travels in Brazil and Buenos Ayres. History of Spain. Franklin's Works. Mental Cultivation.
Life of Gouverneur Morris. Hamilton's Progress of Society. Twiner's Sacred History. Encyclopaedia. Life of Arthur Lee. Life of Sir Humphry Davy. Coleridge, Shelley, and Keats. Prior's Poems. (Vol. I.) Jefferson's Writings. (Vols. I., II.) Memoirs of the Tower of London. History of King's Chapel. Memoirs of Dr. Burney. Hone's Every Day Book. (Vols. I, II., III.) Life of Livingstone.
Life of Hamilton. (Vol. I.) Debates in Parliament. (Vol. I.) Curiosities of Literature (Vol. I.) Combe on the Constitution of Man. Babbage on Economy of Machinery. Eulogies on Jefferson and Adams. Hone's Every Day Book. (Vols. I., III.) Dunlap's History of the Arts of Design. (Vols. I., II.) Mende's Guide to Observation of Nature. Cobbett's Cottage Economy. Douglas's Summary. (Vol. I.) Practical Tourist. (Vols. I., II.) Dick on Improvement of Society. Bush's Life of Mohammed. Temple's Travels in Peru. (Vol. I.) Gay's Poems. Pliny's Natural History. Coleridge's Table-Talk. Letters from Constantinople. (Vols. I., II.) Reynolds's Voyages. Adventures on Columbia River, by Ross Cox. Baine's History of Cotton Manufacture. History of Nantucket. Travels in South America. Mueller's Universal History. Antar. A Bedoueen Romance. Lives of the Philosophers. (Vols. I., II.) Description of Trades. Colman's Visit to England. Ludolph's History of Ethiopia. Griffin's Remains. McCree's Life of Knox. Walker's Sufferings of the Clergy. Voyage de la mer du Sud an Nord. Biographia Literaria. The Stranger in America. Raumer's England in 1835. Random Recollections of the House of Lords. The German Student. Sparks's American Biography. Brewster's Natural Magic. Prior's Life of Goldsmith. Sparks's Washington. Walter Scott's Demonology and Witchcraft. Scott's Life of Bonaparte. (3 vols.)
Washington's Writings. Martineau's Miscellany. Wraxall's Memoirs. Bancroft's United States History. Rush, on the Human Voice. Drake's Indian Biography. Wordsworth's Poetical Works. Clarendon's History of the Rebellion. Reliques of Ancient English Poetry. Bayle's Historical Memoirs of Plymouth County. Life of Jefferson, by Tucker. Random Recollections of the House of Commons. Specimens of American Poetry.
Life of Jefferson. Brown's Novels. Parr's Works. Select Comedies. Froissart's Ancient Chronology. Byron's Works. Plutarch's Lives. London Encyclopedia of Architecture. Gentleman's Magazine. Monthly Magazine. Monthly Review. European Magazine. Christian Examiner. Edinburgh Magazine. Annual Register. Quarterly Review. Southern Review. Worcester's Magazine. North American Review. United States Service Journal. Court Magazine. Museum of Literature and Science. Westminster Review. London Monthly Magazine. Eclectic Review. Foreign Quarterly Review. Blackwood's Magazine. Metropolitan Magazine. New England Magazine. British Critic. American Encyclopaedia. Rees's Cyclopaedia. Gifford's Juvenal.
Addison, Joseph Allegory and symbolism Ambitious Guest, The America, Hawthorne's sentiment about returning to American Magazine American Note-Books, record of youth in American nurture of Hawthorne's genius American quality in literature Andrews, Ferdinand Apollyon, name of cat Artist of the Beautiful, The Atmosphere, Hawthorne's susceptibility to Autobiographies
Balzac's method of dealing with sin Bancroft, George Baudelaire Bay writers, nickname given by Church Review Beelzebub, Hawthorne's cat Belief, Hawthorne's Bewick Company Biography, Hawthorne's feeling about Birth-mark, The Blithedale Romance its relation to Brook Farm real incident applied in when written remarks on Bloody Footstep Boston Custom-House Boston Token, The Bowdoin College passage from "Fanshawe" descriptive of Bridge, Horatio prognostic of, concerning Hawthorne Brig Fair American, Ballad of Brook Farm, origin of Hawthorne's aim in going to length of stay there trenchant remark upon, in Blithedale Brown, Brockden Buchanan, James Buds and Bird-Voices Bunyan, compared with Milton with Hawthorne Burroughs, Rev. Dr. Charles, note from, to Hawthorne Bryant, William Cullen
Celestial Railroad, The Characters of Hawthorne Chippings with a Chisel Chorley, H. F. Christmas Banquet, The Church Review attack of, on The Scarlet Letter Cilley, Jonathan Clarendon's History Coleridge, S. T. Conception of Character, Hawthorne's method of Contact of life and death Contradictions of critics Cooper, J. Fenimore Cooper Memorial letter of Hawthorne Coverdale, Miles, origin of name character of, how related to Hawthorne Curtis, George William letters from Hawthorne to Curwin Mansion Cushing, Caleb Custom-House, prefatory chapter on the excitement over it in Salem
Democratic Review Devil in Manuscript, The Dickens Dixey, William, name in Seven Gables Doctor Heidegger's Experiment Dolliver Romance, The Drake, J. R. Dramatic quality in Hawthorne Drowne's Wooden Image D'Urfe
Early Notes, discovery of passages from Earth's Holocaust Eccentricity in Salem Edinburgh Review, stricture of, upon Irving Emerson's English Traits Endicott and The Red Cross passage from, bearing on Scarlet Letter Endicotts, anecdote of English Note-Books, characteristics of Evangeline, origin of Hawthorne's review of
Fame, in what way desirable Fancy's Show-Box Faust "Fanshawe" abstract of passages from Fearing, Master, and Hawthorne Fielding, Henry Fields, J. T., mistake of Fine Art, Hawthorne's way of looking at Fire worship First Church of Salem First publication by Hawthorne Foote, Caleb Fouque French and Italian Note-Books Froissart
Gautier, Theophile Goethe Godwin, William Goldsmith Goodrich, S. G. employs Hawthorne as editor difficulties with Grandfather's Chair publication of Gray Champion, The
Hathorne, Elizabeth C. Manning, mother of Nathaniel Hawthorne, piety of, her inconsolableness at loss of her husband Hathorne, John, judge in witchcraft trials Hathorne, Joseph, Benjamin, Daniel Hathorne, Nathaniel, father of Nathaniel, death of; Hawthorne's resemblance to Hathorne, William; his persecution of Quakers; his will Haunted Mind, The HAWTHORNE, NATHANIEL, birth of changes spelling of name birthplace of; childhood of; lameness in boyhood; fondness for cats; scholarship of, at college; English compositions of; Latin theme of, (in full, Appendix); reading of; love of books; first printed article of; college associations of; literary struggles of; pecuniary difficulties of; Democratic sympathies of; his inability to distinguish tunes; social nature of; error as to long obscurity of; anecdotes of; value of these in general; his love of solitude; healthiness of; shyness; considerateness for others; personal appearance; G. W. Curtis's reminiscence of; his simplicity of habits; love of books; abstraction; moral enthusiasm of, characterized; unsuspiciousness of; introspection of, how exaggerated; distaste for society, how explainable; in what greater than Irving; ghostly atmosphere of; humor of; American quality of; effect of civil war upon; death of; his grave; burial; literary and intellectual influence of Heine, Heinrich Helwyse, Gervase Hillard, George S. Hoffman, Charles Fenno Hogg's Tales Holmes, Oliver Wendell; letter from, to Hawthorne Horace House of the Seven Gables, The; Hathorne history; composition of; originals for the house; survey of Howells, W. D., Hawthorne's remark to
Invisible struggles of genius Irving, Washington; comparison with Hawthorne; humor of; attitude of, in England; his use of native material; his histories; style of
John Ingefield's Thanksgiving Johnson, Samuel Journal of an African Cruiser Journal of a Solitary Man
Kingsley's Greek Fairy-Tales
Latin Theme of Hawthorne; in full, Appendix Lawrence, Lieutenant, killed off Marblehead Lenox, removal to Letters of Hawthorne, in boyhood, from college; from Connecticut and New Hampshire; to Longfellow; to Bridge; to Curtis; to Motley; to Lowell Leutze Limitations of Hawthorne Liverpool consulate; reduction in receipts of; unjust criticism of Hawthorne in Longfellow, Henry W.; review of Twice-Told Tales; letter to Hawthorne Loring, Dr. G. B. Lowell, James Russell; letter from
Maine, Hawthorne's sojourn in, in boyhood Manning, Elizabeth Clarke, Hawthorne's mother Manning's Folly Manning, Richard Manning, Robert Manning, Samuel Manuscript sketch for Septimius Marble Faun, The; examination of Marine outrages, Hawthorne's wish to redress Marvell, Andrew Maturity in Hawthorne, earliness of Maule, Thomas Maypole of Merry Mount, The Melville, Herman; private review of Seven Gables by Michael Angelo Milton compared with Bunyan and Hawthorne Minister's Black Veil, The Mitford, Miss, Letter from, to Hawthorne Mosses from an Old Manse; first issue of; criticism of Motley, John Lothrop, letter of, to Hawthorne Mozart Mrs. Bullfrog
New England civilization; early character Newman, Professor Nomenclature of fiction Novalis
Oberon Objectivity of Hawthorne Old Apple-Dealer, The Oliver, B. L. Our Old Home
Packard, Professor G. T.; Appendix Papers of an old Dartmoor prisoner Paulding, J. K. Peabody, Miss E. P., acquaintance with Hawthorne Peabody, Miss Sophia Peter Parley's History, written by Hawthorne Pierce, Franklin; Hawthorne's Life of; (sentiments in, touching slavery; resulting abuse of Hawthorne;) dedication of Our Old Home to Pilgrim's Progress, Hawthorne's reading of; allusions to, in his works Plato Plymouth Colony enactment against adultery, foot-note Poe's criticism on Hawthorne; similarities of, to Hawthorne; effectiveness of; subjectivity of; doubtful sanity of; his ratiocination; foreign influence of Pope, Alexander Procession of Life, The Prophetic Pictures, The Pseudonymes of Hawthorne (foot-note) Puritan imagination Puritans, Hawthorne's view of Pyncheon, Clifford, how resembling Poe Pynchons, complaints of the, against Seven Gables
Rappaccini's Daughter Raymond, Maine, removal to Ripley, George Roger Malvin's Burial Rossetti-Morris school Rousseau
Salem, as a native soil; Hawthorne's sentiment for; aspects of; origin of name; trade Salem Custom-House Sand, George Sanity of highest genius
Scarlet Letter; origin of; publication of; Leutze's coincidence; passage compared with Bunyan; theme of revenge in; analysis of the romance; as a work of art Scotland and New England Scott, Sir Walter; Hawthorne's estimate of Scuderi; Madeleine de Sebago Lake Sense of form in Hawthorne; in Poe Septimius Felton; symbolism of; origin of "Seven Tales of my Native Land." Shakespere Shelley's Latin verses; The Cenci, compared with Marble Faun Sights from a Steeple Sims, William, finder of supposed Early Notes, Appendix Sin, consciousness of, in Hawthorne; how conducive to originality Slavery, Hawthorne's sentiments concerning Snow Image Sparhawk House, Kittery "Spectator," The; extracts from Spenser St. John's, John Hathorne's attack on Story, Joseph Sumner, Charles, note of, to Hawthorne Sunday at Home Supernatural, Hawthorne's use of Surroundings of genius assist but do not produce it
Taine's Notes on England Tales of the Province House Tanglewood Tales Term-Bill at College Thackeray Thomson, James Thoreau's Legend of the Wayside Tieck Toll-Gatherer's Day Tragedy of isolation True Stones Twice-Told Tales; temperament in style of; first collection of; second
Union of the States, Hawthorne's feeling about Union Street Upham's "Salem Witchcraft."
Verses by Hawthorne, at college Virgil Virtuoso's Collection Voltaire
Wayside, The, purchase of Wedding Knell, The Weird, The, in Scotland and New England West Newton, removal to Whipple, Edwin, objection to remark of; Hawthorne's pleasure in reviews written by White, John, Rev. White Old Maid, The Widowhood, sentiment of, expressed by Hawthorne Winthiop, John Witchcraft Witch-ointment Witch-pins Wonder-Book Worcester, Dr. J. E.
Young Goodman Brown. Youth of Hawthorne, habits in; valuable formative results of