Hawthorne took his bride on his wedding-day to a new home.  He had rented the old parsonage adjoining the battle-field of Concord, from whose windows the pastor of those heroic days had watched his congregation fight the British in his yard.  It was a gloomy and partially dilapidated “Old Manse,” and doubtless Hawthorne had chosen it because of its quaint aspect.  He has himself drawn the picture of it, and given us an exquisite collection of “Mosses” from it.  It lay back from the main road, and was approached by an avenue of ancient black-ash trees, whose deep shade added much to the quiet appearance of “the gray front of the old parsonage.”  It was just the home for him, and here passed three of the happiest years of his life.  Here he wrote his “Mosses from an Old Manse,” and here his first child was born.

The life he led at Concord was very secluded.  He avoided the society of the village people, who sought in vain to penetrate his retirement and satisfy their curiosity concerning him.  But they were disappointed.  He lived on in his deep seclusion, happy in having his wife and child with him, but caring for no other society.  During the day he remained in his study, which overlooked the old battle-field, or, passing down the lawn at the back of the house to the river, spent the afternoon in rowing on the pretty stream.  At night he would take long walks, or row up the river to the bridge by which the British crossed the stream, and enjoy his favorite luxury—­a bath.  The village people were full of curiosity to know something about him, for he was absolutely unknown to them; and any one who understands what the curiosity of a New England villager is can readily imagine the feelings with which the people of Concord regarded their mysterious neighbor.  They were never satisfied, however, for Hawthorne shrank from prying eyes with indescribable horror.  He kept his ways, and compelled them to let him alone.  He could easily avoid the town in his walks or his rides upon the river, and he was rarely seen passing through the streets unless compelled to do so by matters which needed his attention in Concord.

Yet the “Old Manse” was not without its guests.  Hawthorne was a man of many friends, and these came often to see him.  They were men after his own heart, and among them were Emerson, Ellery, Channing, Thoreau, Whittier, Longfellow, and George William Curtis.  The last-named has left us this pleasant picture of our author in the midst of his friends: 

“During Hawthorne’s first year’s residence in Concord, I had driven up with some friends to an esthetic tea at Mr. Emerson’s.  It was in the winter, and a great wood-fire blazed upon the hospitable hearth.  There were various men and women of note assembled, and I, who listened attentively to all the fine things that were said, was for some time scarcely aware of a man who sat upon the edge of the circle, a little withdrawn, his head slightly thrown forward upon his breast, and his bright eyes