over to Pittsfield to see Holmes, who was then living on his ancestral farm.  Hawthorne was in a cheerful condition, and seemed to enjoy the beauty of the day to the utmost.  Next morning we were all invited by Mr. Dudley Field, then living at Stockbridge, to ascend Monument Mountain.  Holmes, Hawthorne, Duyckinck, Herman Melville, Headley, Sedgwick, Matthews, and several ladies, were of the party.  We scrambled to the top with great spirit, and when we arrived, Melville, I remember, bestrode a peaked rock, which ran out like a bowsprit, and pulled and hauled imaginary ropes for our delectation.  Then we all assembled in a shady spot, and one of the party read to us Bryant’s beautiful poem commemorating Monument Mountain.  Then we lunched among the rocks, and somebody proposed Bryant’s health, and “long life to the dear old poet.”  This was the most popular toast of the day, and it took, I remember, a considerable quantity of Heidsieck to do it justice.  In the afternoon, pioneered by Headley, we made our way, with merry shouts and laughter, through the Ice-Glen.  Hawthorne was among the most enterprising of the merry-makers; and being in the dark much of the time, he ventured to call out lustily and pretend that certain destruction was inevitable to all of us.  After this extemporaneous jollity, we dined together at Mr. Dudley Field’s in Stockbridge, and Hawthorne rayed out in a sparkling and unwonted manner.  I remember the conversation at table chiefly ran on the physical differences between the present American and English men, Hawthorne stoutly taking part in favor of the American.  This 5th of August was a happy day throughout, and I never saw Hawthorne in better spirits.

Often and often I have seen him sitting in the chair I am now occupying by the window, looking out into the twilight.  He liked to watch the vessels dropping down the stream, and nothing pleased him more than to go on board a newly arrived bark from Down East, as she was just moored at the wharf.  One night we made the acquaintance of a cabin-boy on board a brig, whom we found off duty and reading a large subscription volume, which proved, on inquiry, to be a Commentary on the Bible.  When Hawthorne questioned him why he was reading, then and there, that particular book, he replied with a knowing wink at both of us, “There’s consider’ble her’sy in our place, and I’m a studying up for ’em.”  He liked on Sunday to mouse about among the books, and there are few volumes in this room that he has not handled or read.  He knew he could have unmolested habitation here, whenever he chose to come, and he was never allowed to be annoyed by intrusion of any kind.  He always slept in the same room,—­the one looking on the water; and many a night I have heard his solemn footsteps over my head, long after the rest of the house had gone to sleep.  Like many other nervous men of genius, he was a light sleeper, and he liked to be up and about early; but it was only for a ramble among the books again.  One summer