books, and a picture of the Fates
hangs above the grate, a table occupies the centre, at the right of
which is the rocking chair in which he often sat, and his writing
implements lie near on the table. From the study two doors lead to the
long parlor with its large fire-place around which so many noted people
have gathered.

After passing the home of Emerson the road turns toward the left and
leads past the farm and greenhouses of John B. Morse, the agricultural
author, to the School of Philosophy which has just completed its seventh
session with success, the attendance having steadily improved certainly
as far as culture is considered. It stands in the grounds of the Orchard
House now the home of Dr. Harris who has carried out the idea of Mr.
Alcott of whom he bought the place, by laying out beautiful walks over
the crest of the wooded hill. He has surrounded a tall pine on the hill
top with a strong staircase by which it can easily be climbed to a
height of 54 feet from the base and 110 feet from the road in front of
the school building or chapel. Orchard House was for years the home of
the Alcott family where Louisa wrote and May painted and their father
studied philosophy. A broken rustic fence one of the last traces of Mr.
Alcott's mechanical skill forms the slight barrier between the grounds
at the Orchard House and Wayside, which Mr. Alcott bought in 1845 and a
few years later sold to Nathaniel Hawthorne who owned it at the time of
his death. The house is a strange mixture of the old and new, as the
rear part bears evident traces of antiquity, at the right were the
Hawthorne parlors and reception rooms, at the left of the entry his
library, sometimes called the den, and in front a small room with a low
window separates the dining room from the reception room and the whole
is crowned with a tower built by Mr. Hawthorne for a study where he
found the quiet and seclusion which he loved. Much of Mr. Hawthorne's
composition seems to have been done as he wandered up and down the shady
paths which wind in every direction along the terraced hillside, and a
small crooked path is still shown as the one worn by the restless step
of genius. Mr. G.P. Lathrop who married Rose Hawthorne sold the place to
Daniel Lothrop, the Boston publisher, who has thoroughly repaired it and
greatly added to its beauty by reverently preserving every landmark in
his improvements, and now in summer his accomplished wife, known to the
public by