image laid in its richly embossed enclosure, and there was a remote
expression about it as if the whole had nothing to do with things
present." He told us, as an instance of the ever-constant courtesy of
his friend General Pierce, that while they were standing at the grave,
the General, though completely overcome with his own sorrow, turned and
drew up the collar of Hawthorne's coat to shield him from the bitter
cold.

The same day, as the sunset deepened and we sat together, Hawthorne
began to talk in an autobiographical vein, and gave us the story of his
early life, of which I have already written somewhat. He said at an
early age he accompanied his mother and sister to the township in Maine,
which his grandfather had purchased. That, he continued, was the
happiest period of his life, and it lasted through several years, when
he was sent to school in Salem. "I lived in Maine," he said, "like a
bird of the air, so perfect was the freedom I enjoyed. But it was there
I first got my cursed habits of solitude." During the moonlight nights
of winter he would skate until midnight all alone upon Sebago Lake, with
the deep shadows of the icy hills on either hand. When he found himself
far away from his home and weary with the exertion of skating, he would
sometimes take refuge in a log-cabin, where half a tree would be burning
on the broad hearth. He would sit in the ample chimney and look at the
stars through the great aperture through which the flames went roaring
up. "Ah," he said, "how well I recall the summer days also, when, with
my gun, I roamed at will through the woods of Maine. How sad middle life
looks to people of erratic temperaments. Everything is beautiful in
youth, for all things are allowed to it then."

The early home of the Hawthornes in Maine must have been a lonely
dwelling-place indeed. A year ago (May 12, 1870) the old place was