And so the sketch of Hawthorne:

"There is Hawthorne, with genius so shrinking and rare
That you hardly at first see the strength that is there;
A frame so robust, with a nature so sweet,
So earnest, so graceful, so lithe and so fleet,
Is worth a descent from Olympus to meet."

Lowell was now living in happy content at Elmwood. His father, whom he
once speaks of as a "Dr. Primrose in the comparative degree," had lost
a large portion of his property, and literary journals in those days
sent very small checks to young authors. So humble frugality was an
attendant upon the high thinking of the poet couple, but this did not
matter, since the richest objects of their ideal world could be had
without price. But clouds suddenly gathered over their beautiful
lives. Four children were born, three of whom died in infancy.
Lowell's deep and lasting grief for his first-born is tenderly
recorded in the poems _She Came and Went_ and the _First Snow-Fall_.
The volume of poems published in 1848 was "reverently dedicated" to
the memory of "our little Blanche," and in the introductory poem
addressed "To M.W.L." he poured forth his sorrow like a libation of
tears:

"I thought our love at fall, but I did err;
Joy's wreath drooped o'er mine eyes: I could not see
That sorrow in our happy world must be
Love's deepest spokesman and interpreter."

The year 1851-52 was spent abroad for the benefit of Mrs. Lowell's
health, which was now precarious. At Rome their little son Walter