[Campton—Thursday, 13 June 1867]
Thursday. Yesterday afternoon soft clouds arose and overspread the heavens. We had but a few drops of rain here but in the valleys north and west the rain appeared to fall heavily while between the rifts of clouds sunshine lighted the green slopes of the hills. The flowers became fragrant in the dampness. Everything was still. At night, after sunset, which broke up the dark west into billows of snow & gold, the moonshine shone through the heavy clouds at the south lighting the valleys far away with a weird lustre. I think we have a better idea of the width of the world and understand it to be somewhat larger than our horizon bound by now & then coming to these hills. Clear sunshine wraps our mysteries in a soft haze making our future like the distant mountains all of purpling moss, but these heavy clouds which sometimes shroud and are sometimes broken by the sun open up new valleys & new strengths & new possibilities of existence. Today we walked to the village Post-Office before breakfast for our letters and sat under the old shop-porch while we read good news from home. It was very pleasant to sit there in the silence while the villagers came and went almost noiselessly upon their errands. Opposite in the blacksmith’s shop a few men had collected and were lazily talking together before beginning their day’s work. Six o’clock is the hour for breakfast in the village and it was just turned of six when we reached Robinson’s Shop.
After breakfast the clouds were flying about the sky and a shower threatened so we lingered about the door-step for a time. At length we resolved to go to Plymouth whether we drove in our open wagon & where we dined & passed mid-day.
Plymouth is always associated in our minds with Hawthorne and yesterday sitting there, in the lustrous loveliness of June it being one of the fair days when “clouds are highest up in the air” his death there was naturally in our minds. When the mail arrived, curiously enough, came a letter from Mrs Hawthorne containing extracts from his diary. We read these together with keen enjoyment looking up to the hills which were radiant with the eternal love when hearing the sound of music J. went to another part of the house & left me alone. It seems a Free Mason’s funeral was about to take place for which a fine band had been sent from the city. The music blended with the lovely scene & with the rushing voice of the river lending tenderness & a human element which was not lacking but rather failed of a hearing perhaps before to our half-tuned ears. The effect was very solemn and inspiring. When J. came back to me he said he had been talking with the keeper of the house who was there when Hawthorne died and who assisted him up the stairs to his bed that night. Gen Pierce slept in the adjoining apartment and Hawthorne passed from sleep in life to the sleep of death with so voiceless a transition that his easy posture was unchanged and the flight of his spirit was only discovered when his friend placed his hand upon him lovingly in one of the wakeful pauses of the night and found that he was cold. The distress of Gen. Pierce was indescribable the man said. He hardly ever saw a man suffer more—“and indeed Sir,” he continued “if one didn’t know anything about his politics, it would be said of him that he was one of the best of men. There is nobody who comes to this house of more uniform and unfailing gentlemanliness of behavior then he”.
The afternoon was beginning to wane though where it had gone was not so easy to discover and it was time to return to Campton for Mrs Willey had said she was to have company to tea & would like us to be punctual.
Such a drive as that was back to the farm! Such sunlight & cloud-light, such valleys & trees & intervales! We came up on the right bank of the river & gathered flowers as we came—Polygala, Columbine, wild lilies of the valley, cornel blossoms and huge ladies slippers.
We found the farm-house with company full on, windows open and all things looking gay & pleasant. After tea we heard a movement towards our parlor and Esther asked if they “might be allowed the freedom of it”. Then the door was shut & soon a pleasant manly voice sang very sweetly Kingsley’s song of the Three Fishers and other good things, afterward the party all joined in singing a few tunes and the party broke up.
