of his state of mind and body as could be got at without worrying
him with suggestive questions,--my object being to form an opinion
of his condition, as I had been requested to do, and to give him
some hints that might be useful to him on his journey.

"His aspect, medically considered, was very unfavorable. There were
persistent local symptoms, referred especially to the
stomach,--'boring pain,' distension, difficult digestion, with great
wasting of flesh and strength. He was very gentle, very willing to
answer questions, very docile to such counsel as I offered him, but
evidently had no hope of recovering his health. He spoke as if his
work were done, and he should write no more.

"With all his obvious depression, there was no failing noticeable in
his conversational powers. There was the same backwardness and
hesitancy which in his best days it was hard for him to overcome, so
that talking with him was almost like love-making, and his shy,
beautiful soul had to be wooed from its bashful prudency like an
unschooled maiden. The calm despondency with which he spoke about
himself confirmed the unfavorable opinion suggested by his look and
history."

I saw Hawthorne alive, for the last time, the day he started on this his
last mortal journey. His speech and his gait indicated severe illness,
and I had great misgivings about the jaunt he was proposing to take so
early in the season. His tones were more subdued than ever, and he
scarcely spoke above a whisper. He was very affectionate in parting, and
I followed him to the door, looking after him as he went up School
Street. I noticed that he faltered from weakness, and I should have
taken my hat and joined him to offer my arm, but I knew he did not wish