My purpose is simply to make such a defense to the Senate as will insure the rejection of my successor, and thus satisfy the public that I was removed on false or insufficient grounds. Then, if Mr. U. should give me occasion,--or perhaps if he should not,--I shall do my best to kill and scalp him in the public prints; and I think I shall succeed.

I mean soon to comply with your kind invitation to come and see you, not on the above business, but because I think of writing a schoolbook,--or, at any rate, a book for the young,--and should highly prize your advice as to what is wanted, and how it should be achieved.

I mean, as soon as possible,--that is to say, as soon as I can find a cheap, pleasant, and healthy residence,--to remove into the country, and bid farewell forever to this abominable city; for, now that my mother is gone, I have no longer anything to keep me here.

Sophia and the children are pretty well. With my best regards to Mrs.

Mann, I am, Very truly yours,

NATHANIEL HAWTHORNE.

P. S. Do pardon me for troubling you with this long letter: but I am glad to put you in possession of the facts, in case of accidents.

I will insert here some letters that relate to this time, though written in 1884:--

PROVIDENCE, RHODE ISLAND, September 15.

DEAR MRS. LATHROP, . . . That matter of the memorial fountain, or monument [in honor of "The Town Pump "], which the death of Mrs.

Brooks prevented our going on with, I trust may yet in the fullness of time be accomplished. I have a plan which may fructify, although some years may intervene before any decided steps can be taken. Perhaps it will be just as well to wait, after all, until some of those wretches who delight in vilifying your father perish from the face of the earth. Let us have patience. They are fast becoming superannuated, and the "venom of their spleen" will perish with them. They comprehend him not, and are willfully blind and deaf. Dr. Wheatland estimates that less than a score of these strange malignants are now to be met with on the streets of Salem. But he has not like me

"Unaware, Ranging the woods to start a hare, Come to the mouth of the dark lair, Where growling low, a fierce old bear, Lies amid bones and blood."

By the bye, I found once that Miss Savage had wholly forgotten Hawthorne's reference to the Town Pump which closes his Custom House chapter, and so I put "The Scarlet Letter" into my valise (she having lost her copy), and two or three weeks ago I called at her house and read her the pa.s.sage. Afterwards, I dropped in to see Mullet, and I left the book with him, as he had not read it for many years. I think you will like to see a note he has written me, so I inclose it.

Faithfully yours,

GEORGE H. HOLDEN.

February 5.

MY DEAR MRS. LATHROP,--Rummaging among my papers, last evening, I ran across another letter from our "bright-eyed" and n.o.ble-hearted friend Mullet, which I think you will be glad to read, because Mullet wrote it. I therefore inclose the letter. Mullet is very hard of hearing, and on that account goes out but little. During the twelve years that I lived in Salem I am sure I never once met him on the street. In fact, I think I never heard of him, even, till after I moved to Providence. I heard of him one day at the "Gazette" office, and forthwith dug him out. He is a great reader. The Harpers have sent me all of Rolfe's Shakespeare, and I found that I have duplicate copies of three or four of the Plays. These duplicates I shall ask Mullet to oblige me by accepting. Mullet is not the chap who bored your father so fearfully by endless talk about Shakespeare and Napoleon, but he is a prodigious admirer of the great dramatist. He has the Plays in one huge, unwieldy volume, and for that reason reads them less than he would if they were in a more handy form. Mullet is a great reader of the old English poets (I don't mean so far back as Chaucer and Spenser), and I suppose he can repeat from memory thousands of lines.

I have found no chance to call upon him since I fruitlessly rang his doorbell, as stated in his letter.

Please remind me to tell you about an African fetich which Mullet gave me one day, and a reminiscence of your father linked therewith. Ever faithfully,

GEORGE H. HOLDEN.

SALEM, September 10, 1884.

DEAR MR. HOLDEN,--It was my good fortune during the year 1850 to be presented with a copy of "The Scarlet Letter," together with "the compliments of the author." Of course, the gift was highly prized; but its fate was that of many other volumes, borrowed and never returned.

A volume of the same, from the late edition issued last year, proved a most welcome visitor to my enforced seclusion. After the lapse of many years I once more had the real pleasure of reading over that popular work. The enjoyment derived from a fresh perusal of the introductory chapter on the Custom House was great indeed. It seemed like living over that period of my existence again. The scenes described in such a masterly manner were vividly before me; and while reading I frequently stopped to laugh at the scrupulously nice delineation. The zest with which I read was heightened by the reproduction of the characters in that superlative picture of word-painting, for they together with the artist were vividly--I had almost said palpably--before me, as though it were a thing of yesterday. How real the "patriarchal body of veterans" appeared, "tipped back in chairs," and "at times asleep; but occasionally might be heard talking together in voices between speech and a snore. There was no more vivacity than in the drowsy drone of so many b.u.mblebees." However much others may be entertained by reading that chapter of exquisite humor, those who were the daily witnesses of the scenes for several years can best appreciate its nicety and drollery. The "veteran shipmaster," concerning whom Hawthorne says, "scarcely a day pa.s.sed that he did not stir me to laughter and admiration by his marvelous gift as a story-teller," was Captain Stephen Burchmore, the public storekeeper. The stories of themselves were generally extravagant and grotesque. It was "the marvelous gift"

of narration that carried people off their legs. I have known the company present to roar with laughter, and not one more convulsed than Mr. Hawthorne. Truly yours,

GEORGE W. MULLET.

SALEM, October 1, 1883.

DEAR MR. HOLDEN,--You request me to "write the particulars about the good turn I had done Hawthorne in sacrificing my own interests in his behalf."

Mr. Hawthorne had not been thought of in connection with any office in the Custom House until after arrangements were made to have them filled with others. Richard Lindsay was supported for the surveyorship and myself for the naval office. All necessary doc.u.ments had been forwarded to Washington, duly authenticated, and tidings of the appointments daily looked for.

At this late stage Hawthorne was first suggested for Surveyor. The matter was urgently pushed. To accomplish it, Lindsay must be prevailed upon to withdraw. All were agreed that I was the one to engineer the matter, Lindsay and myself being fast friends, and our relations uninterruptedly pleasant. That he would willingly consent was not expected, and indeed it was problematical if he would at all.

I felt exceedingly delicate about suggesting the business, as I had in person been through the country obtaining signatures from resident committees favoring his appointment. I therefore voluntarily offered to withdraw my application for the naval office in favor of Hawthorne, but that found no favor.

Finally, to secure the desideratum, I proposed that Lindsay and self both withdraw, and have the offices filled with others. I desired my friend should understand that I asked for no sacrifice I was not willing to share. My withdrawal was stoutly opposed as entirely unnecessary, but it was my ultimatum; on no other condition would I move in the matter. The business was then broken by me to Lindsay, and it required all the persuasion I could exercise to reconcile him to the arrangement. The expedient of my own withdrawal brought it about; otherwise it would not have been accomplished.

It now only remained for us to write to Washington, withdrawing our candidatures, and transferring all our support to the applications of Hawthorne for Surveyor and Howard for Naval Officer. Soon their commissions came, and Lindsay and myself were subsequently appointed as inspectors under Hawthorne.

At that time I regarded Hawthorne's appointment as decidedly popular with the party, with men of letters, and with the increasing mult.i.tude who admired him as one of the brightest stars in the literary firmament.

Never have I experienced the least regret for waiving my own advantage to bring the pleasing result about. For nearly four years it brought me almost daily into proximity with him, either officially or casually. The recollection well repays the little sacrifice made. His port, his placidity, his hours of abstraction, his mild, pleasant voice,--no sweeter ever uttered by mortal lips,--are all readily recalled. Truly yours,

G. W. MULLET.

CHAPTER V

FROM SALEM TO BERKSHIRE

Plans for retiring into the depths of the country were made, and Horatio Bridge was requested to see what chance there was for a home near the ocean, to which Hawthorne always turned as to the most desirable neighbor. Mr. Bridge responds in part:--

UNITED STATES NAVY YARD, PORTSMOUTH, N. H.

August 6, 1849.

DEAR HAWTHORNE,--. . . I have looked at a house, which you will probably like . . . and it commands a fine sea view. If it can be hired, it is just the place. . . . We are busy in fixing ourselves in our new quarters, where we shall be most happy to see you. Mrs. Bridge joins me in kind regards to Mrs. H. and yourself. Love to Una and the unseen Julian.

Yours ever, H. B.

A letter from Mrs. Bridge, which does not mention the year, is a specimen of many similar ones from other friends:--

PHILADELPHIA, July 1.

MY DEAR MRS. HAWTHORNE,--I heard yesterday by way of Africa that you had not received a note which I left at the Winthrop House for you last summer. You must have thought me very neglectful. I should have acknowledged the receipt of any book you might have sent me; but most sincerely did I thank you for that which had given me so much pleasure. I remember very distinctly my past knowledge of Mr.

Hawthorne as an author, and the bitter tears I shed over "The Gentle Boy." When I had read it until I thought myself quite hardened to its influence, I offered to read it to our dear old nurse, who had been the patient listener to the whole family for many a year. I prided myself upon my nursery reputation for stoicism, which I should lose if my voice faltered. I was beginning to doubt my ability to get calmly through the next page, when the old lady exclaimed, in such a truly yet ludicrously indignant tone, "Dretful creturs!" that I had a fair right to laugh while she wiped the tears off of her spectacles. The time gained placed me on a firmer footing, and I got safely through thereby. I enjoy Mr. Hawthorne's writings none the less now that I can laugh and cry when I am inclined. Will you give him my kindest regards. He is very often mentioned by Mr. Bridge, who, by the way, goes to the Mediterranean in September. I hope to join him there.

With much regard, truly yours,

C. M. BRIDGE.

Promptly, in their hour of misfortune, arrived a letter from one of Mrs. Hawthorne's dearest friends, which I give here:--

STATEN ISLAND, September 10, 1849.

Thank you, my dear Sophia, for your letter. I have been thinking a great deal of you lately, and was glad to know of your plans. Before I heard from you, I had expended a great amount of indignation upon "General Taylor" and his myrmidons, and politics and parties, and the whole host of public blessings which produce private misfortunes. I am glad you are going to Lenox, because it is such a beautiful place, and you have so many warm friends there. Life is a pretty sad affair, dear Sophia; at least, I find it so. . . . We have felt, that Bob [Colonel Robert Shaw] required to be removed from home influences, as he has no brothers; and, being unwilling to send him to a school of the usual order, we chose the Jesuit College at Fordham, near New York, where there are a hundred and fifty boys, and a great many holy fathers to teach and take care of them. I inclose a check from Frank, which he hopes Mr. Hawthorne will accept as it is offered, and as lie would do if the fate had been reversed. He does not ask you to accept his gift,--so pay it back when you don't want it, here or hereafter, or never. I only wish it was a thousand. Dear Sophia, when I think of such men as your husband, Page, and some others, so pinched and cramped for this abominable money, it makes me outrageous. If it were one of those trials that do people good, it would be bearable; but it kills one down so. Shakespeare felt it when he said:--