Professor, he exclaimed, "Why, Edward, you look gross--take care of
the intellect!" Then he handed him one of the great books, just
arrived, which was an edition of Thomas Belsham's works, with a
likeness of the author. "There," said he, "is a man who had not quite
the dimensions of a hogshead; but he was the largest man I ever saw."
Edward looked rather uneasy. "William," he replied, "I don't think you
are any judge of large men. Last week I looked quite thin, but to-day
my head and face are very much swelled." The Doctor, in the simplicity
of his heart, never thinks of feelings, only of things, as Plato would
say. Your affectionate sister,

MARY.

Sophia writes to Elizabeth in Boston, in 1838, of her daily life, as
follows:--

"I went to my hammock [in the studio] with Xenophon. Socrates was
divinest, after Jesus Christ, I think. He lived up to his thought. . . .
After dinner, Mary went out 'to take the fresh,' intending to
finish the afternoon by a walk with Miss Hawthorne, and I commissioned
her to bring home both her and her brother, if he should go, that I
might give him my fragrant violets. . . .

"Miss Hawthorne came to walk, and remarked to Mary how beautiful the
crocuses were which I had given to her brother. Mary told her that I
sent them _to her_. 'That is a pretty story,' she replied. 'He never
told me so.'

"Just after seven Mr. Hawthorne came. He looked very brilliant. . . .
His coming here is one sure way of keeping you in mind, and it must be