Cut in a window-pane of one of the rooms were left these
inscriptions: "Nat'l Hawthorne. This is his study, 1843."
"Inscribed by my husband at sunset, April 3d, 1843, in the gold
light, S. A. H. Man's accidents are God's purposes. Sophia A.
Hawthorne, 1843."

Dear, devoted bride, after more than fifty years your bright,
loving letters have come to light, and through your clear vision
we catch unobstructed glimpses of men and things of those days.
After years of devotion to your husband and his memory it was your
lot to die and be buried in a foreign land, while he lies lonely
in "Sleepy Hollow."

When the honeymoon was still a silver crescent in the sky she
wrote a friend, "I hoped I should see you again before I came home
to our paradise. I intended to give you a concise history of my
elysian life. Soon after we returned my dear lord began to write
in earnest, and then commenced my leisure, because, till we meet
at dinner, I do not see him. We were interrupted by no one, except
a short call now and then from Elizabeth Hoar, who can hardly be
called an earthly inhabitant; and Mr. Emerson, whose face pictured
the promised land (which we were then enjoying), and intruded no
more than a sunset or a rich warble from a bird.

"One evening, two days after our arrival at the Old Manse, George
Hilliard and Henry Cleveland appeared for fifteen minutes on their
way to Niagara Falls, and were thrown into raptures by the
embowering flowers and the dear old house they adorned, and the
pictures of Holy Mothers mild on the walls, and Mr. Hawthorne's
study, and the noble avenue. We forgive them for their appearance