In my little
book, I speak somewhere of "the silver and rose tint flame of the
morning." . . . My wife, who sends her love, has taken possession of
your note, and is to keep it somewhere "with care." That is, it is to
be so carefully hidden that no one will ever find it. Perhaps she is
a little jealous; but, in any case, she wants the autograph. Please
make my regards to the man in "The House of the Seven Gables," and
believe me, with sincere respect, Yours--obliged--
L. W. MANSFIELD.
HOME, January 22.
DEAR MADAM,--I suppose Mr. Hawthorne will smile at the idea of my
writing him a letter of condolence, and such I do not intend; but I
have been a little provoked at an article in "The Church Review;" and
whether Mr. Hawthorne cares for my opinion or not, it will be a relief
and satisfaction for me to say my say about it. Nor do I suppose that
he can live so exclusively in a world of his own as not to be pleased
at knowing that his friends recognize as such any impertinence that
may be said about him. In this case also it comes home to the question
which I submitted in the "Up-Country Letters," which I sent you. Now I
will say (and I venture to say that I am one of twenty thousand
respectable people that would say the same) that the little bits of
personal description and reference which Mr. Hawthorne has given in
two instances have added--I was going to say tenfold to the interest
which attaches to all his writings, and so modestly and quietly, and
in such exquisite taste were those references made, that it does
strike me as the sublime of stupidity that any one could misunderstand
them.
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