or shovelers--now for a piece of spun-yarn--now for a handspike--now
for a hammer, or some nails--now for some of the ship's molasses, to
sweeten water--the which the Captain afterwards reprehended him for
giving. These calls would keep him in about movement enough to give
variety to his tallying--he moving quietly about the decks, as if he
belonged aboard ship and nowhere else. Then sitting down he would
converse (though by no means forward to talk) about the weather, about
his recent or former voyages, etc., etc., etc., we dodging the intense
sun round the main mast.


Sophia writes to Hawthorne from Milton:--

Sunday A. M., May 30, 1841.

DEAREST,--The chilling atmosphere keeps me from church to-day. . . .
Since I saw you at the Farm, I wish far more than ever to have a home
for you to come to, after associating with men at the Farm [Brook
Farm] all day. A sacred retreat you should have, of all men. Most
people would not desire or like it, but notwithstanding your exquisite
courtesy and conformableness and geniality there, I could see very
plainly that you were not leading your ideal life. Never upon the face
of any mortal was there such a divine expression of sweetness and
kindliness as I saw upon yours during the various transactions and
witticisms of the excellent fraternity. Yet it was also the expression
of a witness and hearer, rather than of comradeship. Had I perceived a
particle of even the highest kind of pride in your manner, it would
have spoiled the perfect beauty and fitness.

M. L. Sturgis, in a little note, gives a glimpse of Sophia's world at