weeks or more in Paris, and sail for home, as I said, in July.  It would be an exceeding delight to me to meet you or Ticknor in England, or anywhere else.  At any rate, it will cheer my heart to see you all and the old Corner itself, when I touch my dear native soil again.”

I went abroad again in 1859, and found Hawthorne back in England, working away diligently at “The Marble Faun.”  While travelling on the Continent, during the autumn I had constant letters from him, giving accounts of his progress on the new romance.  He says:  “I get along more slowly than I expected....  If I mistake not, it will have some good chapters.”  Writing on the 10th of October he tells me:—­

“The romance is almost finished, a great heap of manuscript being already accumulated, and only a few concluding chapters remaining behind.  If hard pushed, I could have it ready for the press in a fortnight; but unless the publishers [Smith and Elder were to bring out the work in England] are in a hurry, I shall be somewhat longer about it.  I have found far more work to do upon it than I anticipated.  To confess the truth, I admire it exceedingly at intervals, but am liable to cold fits, during which I think it the most infernal nonsense.  You ask for the title.  I have not yet fixed upon one, but here are some that have occurred to me; neither of them exactly meets my idea:  ‘Monte Beni; or, The Faun.  A Romance.’  ‘The Romance of a Faun.’  ‘The Faun of Monte Beni.’  ’Monte Beni:  a Romance.’  ‘Miriam:  a Romance.’  ‘Hilda:  a Romance.’  ’Donatello:  a Romance.’  ‘The Faun:  a Romance.’  ‘Marble and Man:  a Romance.’  When you have read the work (which I especially wish you to do before it goes to press), you will be able to select one of them, or imagine something better.  There is an objection in my mind to an Italian name, though perhaps Monte Beni might do.  Neither do I wish, if I can help it, to make the fantastic aspect of the book too prominent by putting the Faun into the title-page.”

Hawthorne wrote so intensely on his new story, that he was quite worn down before he finished it.  To recruit his strength he went to Redcar, where the bracing air of the German Ocean soon counteracted the ill effect of overwork.  “The Marble Faun” was in the London printing-office in November, and he seemed very glad to have it off his hands.  His letters to me at this time (I was still on the Continent) were jubilant with hope.  He was living in Leamington, and was constantly writing to me that I should find the next two months more comfortable in England than anywhere else.  On the 17th he writes:—­