he could see the unwelcome
visitor while yet a far way off, or contemplate the lazy travel of
a summer's day.

Just beyond is "Orchard House," into which the Alcotts moved in
October, 1858.

A philosopher may not be a good neighbor, and Alcott lived just a
little too near Hawthorne. "It was never so well understood at
'The Wayside' that its owner had retiring habits as when Alcott
was reported to be approaching along Larch Path, which stretched
in feathery bowers between our house and his. Yet I was not aware
that the seer failed at any hour to gain admittance,--one cause,
perhaps, of the awe in which his visits were held. I remember that
my observation was attracted to him curiously from the fact that
my mother's eyes changed to a darker gray at his advents, as they
did only when she was silently sacrificing herself. I clearly
understood that Mr. Alcott was admirable, but he sometimes brought
manuscript poetry with him, the dear child of his own Muse. There
was one particularly long poem which he had read aloud to my
mother and father; a seemingly harmless thing, from which they
never recovered."

The appreciation the great men of Concord had of one another is
interesting to the outside world. Great souls are seldom
congenial,--popular impression to the contrary notwithstanding.
Minds of a feather flock together; but minds of gold are apt to
remain apart, each sufficient unto itself. It is in sports,
pastimes, business, politics, that men congregate with facility;
in literary and intellectual pursuits the leaders are
anti-pathetic in proportion to their true greatness. Now and then
two, and more rarely three, are united by bonds of quick
understanding and sympathy, but men of profound convictions attract
followers and repel companions.

Emerson's was the most catholic spirit; he understood his
neighbors better than they understood one another; his vision was
very clear. For a man who mingled so little with the world, who
spent so much of his life in contemplation--in communing with his
inner self--Emerson was very sane indeed; his idiosyncrasies did
not prevent his judging men and things quite correctly.

Hawthorne and Emerson saw comparatively little of each other;
these two great souls respected the independence of each other too
much to intrude. "Mr. Hawthorne once broke through his hermit
usage, and honored Miss Ellen Emerson, the friend of his daughter
Una, with a formal call on a Sunday evening. It was