The Middlebury register. [volume] (Middlebury, Vt.) 1850-1882, 1853-04-06

We llnger around the Old Manse
and its occupants as fondly as Haw-
thorne, but no more fondly than all
who have been once within the inhu-
encc of its spell. There glimmers in
my memory few hazy days, of tran
quill and half pensive character, which
| am conscious were passed in and
around the house, and their pensive-
ness know to be only that touch of
twilight which inhercd in the house
and all its associations. Beside the
few chance visitors l have named,
there we're city friends, occasionally,
figures quite unknown to the village,
who came preceded by the steam.
Shrek of the locomotive were dropped
At the gate posts, and were seen no
more. The owner was as much q
vague name to me as to any one.
During Hawthorne's first years
residence in Concord, | had driven up
with some friends to an esthetic tea at
Mr.. Emerson's. 1t was in the winter,
and great wood fire blazed upon the
hospitable hearth. There were vari-
Gus men and women of note assembled,
and |, who listened attentively to all
the fine things that were said, was for
some time scarcely aware of man
who sat upon the edge Of the circle, a
little withdrawn, his head slightly for
ward upon his breast, and his bright
eyes clearly burning under his black
brows. AS drifted down the stream,
of talk, this person, who sat silent as
a shadow, looked to me, as Webster
might have looked, had he been a po-
et-a kind of poetic Webster. He
rose and walked to the window, and
stood quietly there for a long time,
watching the dead white landscape.
No appeal was made to him, nobody
looked after him, the conversation flow
ed steadily on as if every one under
stood that his silence was to be respec-
ted. 1t was the same thing at the ta-
BILE. In vain the silent man imbibed
esthetic tea. Whatever fancics it in.
spired did not flower at his lips. But
there was light in his eyes which as
sured ME that nothing was lost. Sc
supreme was his silence, that it pres
entity engrosscd me to the exclusion
of everything else. There was yer,
brilliant discourse, but this silence
was much more poetic and facinating,
Fine things were said by the phi
losophers, but much finer things were
implied by the dumbness of this gen
tleman with heavy brows and blacl
hair. When he presently rose anC
went, Emerson, with the +" slow, wis,
smile" that breaks over his face, lik,
day over the sky, said:
" Hawthorne rides well his horse o
the night"
Thus he remained in memory,
shadow, a phantom, until more than
year afterward. Then he came t,
live in Concord Every day l passe,
his house, but when the villagers
thinking that perhaps l had some clu
to the mystery, said
" Do you know this Mr.. Haw
thorne p"
l / said, A" No." and trusted to Time
Time justified my confidence, an
one day, | too went down the avenue
and disappeared in the house.
mounted those mysterious stairs I
that apocryphal study. / saw " tn
cheerful coat of paint, and golden-tin
ed paper-hangings, lighting up tn
small apartment while the shadow {
a willow tree, that swept against th
oyerhanging caves, attempered tn
cherry western sunshine" l locke
from the little northern window whenC
the old pastor watched the battle, an