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Hawthorne returned home in 1860 and settled in the Wayside at Concord, busying himself with a new, and, as was destined, a never completed story about the elixir of immortality. But his vitality was ebbing, and in May, 1864, he passed away in his sleep. He rests under the pines in Sleepy Hollow, near the Alcotts and the Emersons.
Socrates and Plato were noble; Zerdusht and Confutzee, for aught we know, were nobler still; but what were they but the exclusive mystagogues of an enlightened few, like our own Emersons and Strausses, to compare great with small? What gospel have they, or Strauss, or Emerson, for the poor, the suffering, the oppressed? The People's Friend? Where will you find him, but in Jesus of Nazareth?"
Nothing more was proposed than that she should rent from them their spare room, which was tolerably spacious and could be used both as bed-chamber and parlour. Her meals were to be supplied to her by the landlady of the house. The only stipulation with the Emersons was that she should receive her singing-lessons in their sitting-room, where there was a piano.
"Fiasco's done you this time," remarked Freddy, not seeing that his sister's face was very red. She could not recover herself. Mr. Beebe saw it, and continued to divert the conversation. "These particular Emersons consisted of a father and a son the son a goodly, if not a good young man; not a fool, I fancy, but very immature pessimism, et cetera.
They had gathered round George, who beckoned, she felt, over the rubbish, the sloppy thoughts, the furtive yearnings that were beginning to cumber her soul. Her anger faded at the sight of him. Ah! The Emersons were fine people in their way. She had to subdue a rush in her blood before saying: "Freddy has taken him into the dining-room. The others are going down the garden. Come.
She saw, however, that the Mortons all were in love with the little creature so she did her best to be amiable toward her. "You're all so good to me," she cried. "I love all these things that you've made for me with your own fingers." "We'd do more than that if we could," answered Ethel Blue as they all, including Dorothy, swept out of the front door to take up their journey to the Emersons'.
Arrived at the house, he had to wait. Mrs. Ormonde was gone out for an hour, and neither Mr. Emerson nor his wife was at home. He sat in the Emersons' parlour, seldom stirring, his eyes unobservant. For Gilbert Grail there was little left in the world that he cared to look at. Mrs. Ormonde came in.
I pointed out to her that of course I could not explain the state of things to the Emersons, and therefore Lydia had better not visit her for some time. Egremont sat down at a distance, and brooded. 'But a contradiction is involved! he exclaimed presently. 'How can a girl of her character have forgotten so quickly such profound emotion?
Saw young Booth in Brutus, and liked him better than his father; went about and rested after my labors; glad to be with Father, who enjoyed Boston and friends. Home on the 10th, passing Sunday at the Emersons'. I have done what I planned supported myself, written eight stories, taught four months, earned a hundred dollars, and sent money home.
And let me give you all fair warning: I intend to be unmerciful to the British tourist." "Oh, you wicked woman," cried Miss Bartlett. "I am sure you are thinking of the Emersons." Miss Lavish gave a Machiavellian smile. "I confess that in Italy my sympathies are not with my own countrymen. It is the neglected Italians who attract me, and whose lives I am going to paint so far as I can.
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