river and quietly asked of its stillness the repose she sought. The
boats gathered around the spot. With every implement that could be of
service the melancholy search began. Long intervals of fearful silence
ensued, but at length, towards midnight, the sweet face of the dead
girl was raised more placidly to the stars than ever it had been to
the sun.

"Oh! is it weed or fish or floating hair--
A tress o' golden hair,
O' drowned maiden's hair,
Above the nets at sea?
Was never salmon yet that shone so fair
Among the stakes on Dee."

So ended a village tragedy. The reader may possibly find in it the
original of the thrilling conclusion of the _Blithedale Romance_, and
learn anew that dark as is the thread with which Hawthorne weaves his
spells, it is no darker than those with which tragedies are spun, even
in regions apparently so torpid as Concord.




THE WORKS OF NATHANIEL HAWTHORNE


The traveller by the Eastern Railroad, from Boston, reaches in less
than an hour the old town of Salem, Massachusetts. It is chiefly
composed of plain wooden houses, but it has a quaint air of past
provincial grandeur, and has indeed been an important commercial town.