When Hawthorne was told of this, he felt as if he were almost as much responsible for his friend's death as was the man who shot him. He said little; but the remorse that came upon him was heavy, and did not pass away. He saw that it was Cilley's high

esteem for him which had led him to his fatal decision; and he was made to realize, with unrelenting clearness, how small a part of the consequences of a man's deeds can be monopolized by the man himself. "Had I not aimed at my friend's life," was the burden of his meditation, "this other friend might have been still alive." And if the reproach be deemed fanciful, it would not on that account be easier for Hawthorne to shake off. He had touched hands with crime; and all the rest was but a question of degrees.

In the first volume of "Twice-Told Tales" there is a short story, or "morality," as the author styles it, which, if read in the light of the foregoing narrative, will be found to have a peculiar interest. In it the question is discussed, whether the soul may contract the stains of guilt, in all their depth and flagrancy, from deeds which may have been plotted and resolved upon, but which physically have never had an existence. The conclusion is reached that "it is not until the crime is accomplished, that guilt clinches its gripe upon the guilty heart and claims it for its own. . . . There is no such thing, in man's nature, as a settled and full resolve, either for good or evil, except at the very moment of execution." Never

theless, "man must not disclaim his brotherhood with the guiltiest, since, though his hand be clean, his heart has surely been polluted by the flitting phantoms of iniquity. He must feel that, when he shall knock at the gate of Heaven, no semblance of an unspotted life can entitle him to entrance there. Penitence must kneel, and Mercy come from the footstool of the throne, or that golden gate will never open!"

Those who wish to obtain more than a superficial glimpse into Hawthorne's heart cannot do better than to ponder every part of this little story, which is comprised within scarcely more than a half-dozen pages. It was written about the time of Cilley's unhappy death, and contains more than its due proportion of "sad and awful truths."

I will append here a list of most of Hawthorne's contributions to various periodicals from 1832 to 1838, inclusive.

In the "Token" for 1832 appeared: Wives of the Dead My Kinsman, Major Molineaux; Roger Malvin's Burial; The Gentle Boy. In the "Token" for 1833, The Seven Vagabonds; Sir William Pepperell; The Canterbury Pilgrims. In the "New England Magazine" for 1834 (vol. vii.), The Story-Teller; in vol. viii. of the same periodical, Visit to Niagara Falls; Old News; Young Goodman Brown; Ambition's Guest;-in vol. ix., Graves and Goblins; The Old Maid in the Winding-Sheet; Sketches from

Memory; The Devil in Manuscript. In the "Token" for 1835, The Mermaid (afterwards called The Village Uncle); Alice Doane's Appeal; The Haunted Mind. In the "American Magazine of Knowledge (which he edited at this period, 1836-38, and pretty much all of the contents of which he wrote. and prepared) will be found the following in particular: The Ontario Steamboat; The Boston Tea Party; Preservation of the Dead; April Fools; Martha's Vineyard; The Duston Family; Nature of Sleep; Bells; etc. In the "Token" for 1837, The Man of Adamant; and in 1838, The Shaker Bridal; Sylph Etheredge; Endicott and his Men; Peter Goldthwaite; Night Thoughts under an Umbrella. In the "Knickerbocker," 1836, Edward Fane's Rosebud; A Bell's Biography. In the "Democratic Review," 1838-39, Memoir of Jonathan Cilley; Toll-Gatherer's Day; Footprints on the Seashore; Snow-Flakes; Chippings with a Chisel; and the four Tales of the Province House.

CHAPTER V.

COURTSHIP.

"IN 1811 and onwards," writes Miss E. P. Peabody, "when we lived in Herbert Street, Salem, we used to play with the Hawthorne children, who lived in Union Street, their yard stretching between the two streets. Elizabeth Hawthorne, the eldest of the children, used to do her lessons with me. I vividly remember her; she was a brilliant little girl, and I thought her a great genius. Nathaniel Hawthorne I remember as a broad-shouldered little boy, with clustering locks, springing about the yard. Madame Hawthorne was a recluse, and was not in the habit of receiving her husband's relations, or many of her own; it was considered, at that time, a mark of piety and good taste for a widow to withdraw herself from the world. About 1816 to 1820 the Hawthornes were, most of the time, living in Raymond, Maine, and we lost sight of them. But in the latter year heard that they had returned to Salem, and that Miss Elizabeth now secluded herself in like manner as her mother did, spending most of her time in reading and in solitary walks. People said it was a lovedisappointment; but that was merely hearsay.

I

"Between 1830 and 1836 some stories in the 'New England Magazine' arrested my attention. I thought they were probably written by some 'newlight' Quaker, who had outgrown his sectarianism; and I actually wrote (but never sent) a letter to the supposed old man, asking him how he knew that 'sensitive natures are especially apt to be malicious.' It was not until 1837 that I discovered that these stories were the work of Madame Hawthorne's son. It was a difficult matter to establish visiting relations with so eccentric a household; and another year passed away before Mr. Hawthorne and his sisters called on us. It was in the evening. I was alone in the drawing-room; but Sophia, who was still an invalid, was in her chamber. As soon as I could, I ran upstairs to her and said, 'O Sophia, you must get up and dress and come down! The Hawthornes are here, and you never saw anything so splendid as he is, he is handsomer than Lord Byron!' She laughed, but refused to come, remarking that since he had called once, he would call again. So I went down. to them again, and we passed a very pleasant evening. Elizabeth, with her black hair in beautiful natural curls, her bright, rather shy eyes, and a rather excited, frequent, low laugh, looked full of wit and keenness, as if she were experienced in the world; there was not the least bit of sentiment about her, but she was strongly intellectual. There was nothing peculiar about Louisa; she seemed like other people. Mr. Hawthorne was very nicely dressed; but he looked,