preferred to keep their feet on the solid earth and write admirable histories.
So the mellow years went by. Most of the widely-read American books were being produced within twenty miles of the Boston State House
The slavery issue kept growling, far away, but it was only now and then, as in the enforcement of the Fugitive Slave Act
of 1850, that it was brought sharply home to the North
The “golden forties” were as truly golden for New England
as for idle California
There was wealth, leisure, books, a glow of harvest-time in the air, though the spirit of the writers is the spirit of youth.
, our greatest writer of pure romance, was Puritan
by inheritance and temperament, though not in doctrine or in sympathy.
His literary affiliations were with the English
and German Romanticists, and he possessed, for professional use, the ideas and vocabulary of his transcendental friends.
Born in Salem
in 1804, he was descended from Judge Haw
thorne of Salem Witchcraft fame, and from a long line of sea-faring ancestors.
He inherited a morbid solitariness, redeemed in some measure by a physical endowment of rare strength and beauty.
He read Spenser
, and the Newgate Calendar