service, his salary at that time being his sole
dependence,--not foreseeing that his withdrawal from that sort of
employment would be the best thing for American letters that could
possibly happen,--I called, in his behalf, on several influential
politicians of the day, and well remember the rebuffs I received in my
enthusiasm for the author of the "Twice-Told Tales." One pompous little
gentleman in authority, after hearing my appeal, quite astounded me by
his ignorance of the claims of a literary man on his country. "Yes,
yes," he sarcastically croaked down his public turtle-fed throat, "I see
through it all, I see through it; this Hawthorne is one of them 'ere
visionists, and we don't want no such a man as him round." So the
"visionist" was not allowed to remain in office, and the country was
better served by him in another way. In the winter of 1849, after he had
been ejected from the custom-house, I went down to Salem to see him and
inquire after his health, for we heard he had been suffering from
illness. He was then living in a modest wooden house in Mall Street, if
I remember rightly the location. I found him alone in a chamber over the
sitting-room of the dwelling; and as the day was cold, he was hovering
near a stove. We fell into talk about his future prospects, and he was,
as I feared I should find him, in a very desponding mood. "Now," said I,
"is the time for you to publish, for I know during these years in Salem
you must have got something ready for the press." "Nonsense," said he;
"what heart had I to write anything, when my publishers (M. and Company)
have been so many years trying to sell a small edition of the
'Twice-Told Tales'?" I still pressed upon him the good chances he would
have now with something new. "Who would risk publishing a book for _me_,
the most unpopular writer in America?" "I would," said I, "and would
start with an edition of two thousand copies of anything you write."
"What madness!" he exclaimed; "your friendship for me gets the better of
your judgment. No, no," he continued; "I have no money to indemnify a
publisher's losses on my account." I looked at my watch and found that
the train would soon be starting for Boston, and I knew there was not
much time to lose in trying to discover what had been his literary work
during these last few years in Salem. I remember that I pressed him to
reveal to me what he had been writing. He shook his head and gave me to
understand he had produced