Marble Faun" Hawthorne comes into his own again. Its central
problem is one of those dark insoluble ones that he loves: the
influence of a crime upon the development of a soul. Donatello,
the Faun, is a charming young creature of the natural sunshine
until his love for the somber Miriam tempts him to the commission
of murder: then begins the growth of his mind and character.
Perhaps the haunting power of the main theme of the book has
contributed less to its fame than the felicity of its
descriptions of Rome and Italy. For Hawthorne possessed, like
Byron, in spite of his defective training in the appreciation of
the arts, a gift of romantic discernment which makes "The Marble
Faun," like "Childe Harold," a glorified guide-book to the
Eternal City.

All of Hawthorne's books, in short, have a central core of
psychological romance, and a rich surface finish of description.
His style, at its best, has a subdued splendor of coloring which
is only less wonderful than the spiritual perceptions with which
this magician was endowed. The gloom which haunts many of his
pages, as I have said elsewhere, is the long shadow cast by our
mortal destiny upon a sensitive soul. The mystery is our mystery,
perceived, and not created, by that finely endowed mind and
heart. The shadow is our shadow; the gleams of insight, the soft
radiance of truth and beauty, are his own.

A college classmate of Henry Wadsworth Longfellow summed up the
Portland boy's character in one sentence: "It appeared easy for
him to avoid the unworthy." Born in 1807, of Mayflower stock that
had distinguished itself for bravery and uprightness, the youth
was graduated from Bowdoin at eighteen. Like his classmate