In this spot “Septimius Felton” was written;
but the manuscript, thrown aside, was mentioned in
the Dedicatory Preface to “Our Old Home”
as an “abortive project.” As will
be found explained in the Introductory Notes to “The
Dolliver Romance” and “The Ancestral Footstep,”
that phase of the same general design which was developed
in the “Dolliver” was intended to take
the place of this unfinished sketch, since resuscitated.
G.P.L.
The following story is the last written by my father.
It is printed as it was found among his manuscripts.
I believe it is a striking specimen of the peculiarities
and charm of his style, and that it will have an added
interest for brother artists, and for those who care
to study the method of his composition, from the mere
fact of its not having received his final revision.
In any case, I feel sure that the retention of the
passages within brackets (e. g. p. 253), which
show how my father intended to amplify some of the
descriptions and develop more fully one or two of
the character studies, will not be regretted by appreciative
readers. My earnest thanks are due to Mr. Robert
Browning for his kind assistance and advice in interpreting
the manuscript, otherwise so difficult to me.
Una Hawthorne.
Or, the elixir of life.
It was a day in early spring; and as that sweet, genial
time of year and atmosphere calls out tender greenness
from the ground,—beautiful flowers, or
leaves that look beautiful because so long unseen under
the snow and decay,—so the pleasant air
and warmth had called out three young people, who
sat on a sunny hill-side enjoying the warm day and
one another. For they were all friends:
two of them young men, and playmates from boyhood;
the third, a girl, who, two or three years younger
than themselves, had been the object of their boy-love,
their little rustic, childish gallantries, their budding
affections; until, growing all towards manhood and
womanhood, they had ceased to talk about such matters,
perhaps thinking about them the more.
These three young people were neighbors’ children,
dwelling in houses that stood by the side of the great
Lexington road, along a ridgy hill that rose abruptly
behind them, its brow covered with a wood, and which
stretched, with one or two breaks and interruptions,
into the heart of the village of Concord, the county
town. It was in the side of this hill that, according
to tradition, the first settlers of the village had
burrowed in caverns which they had dug out for their
shelter, like swallows and woodchucks. As its
slope was towards the south, and its ridge and crowning
woods defended them from the northern blasts and snow-drifts,
it was an admirable situation for the fierce New England
winter; and the temperature was milder, by several
