ords and the prescription of a not ungrateful sedative and
cordial or two could not lay on me the reproach of having given him his
"final bitter taste of this world, perhaps doomed to be a recollected
nauseousness in the next."

There was nothing in Mr. Hawthorne's aspect that gave warning of so
sudden an end as that which startled us all. It seems probable that he
died by the gentlest of all modes of release, fainting, without the
trouble and confusion of coming back to life,--a way of ending liable to
happen in any disease attended with much debility.

Mr. Hawthorne died in the town of Plymouth, New Hampshire, on the
nineteenth of May. The moment, and even the hour, could not be told, for
he had passed away without giving any sign of suffering, such as might
call the attention of the friend near him. On Monday, the twenty-third
of May, his body was given back to earth in the place where he had long
lived, and which he had helped to make widely known,--the ancient town
of Concord.

The day of his burial will always live in the memory of all who shared
in its solemn, grateful duties. All the fair sights and sweet sounds of
the opening season mingled their enchantments as if in homage to the
dead master, who, as a lover of Nature and a student of life, had given
such wealth of poetry to our New-England home, and invested the stern
outlines of Puritan character with the colors of romance. It was the
bridal day of the season, perfect in light as if heaven were looking on,
perfect in air as if Nature herself were sighing for our loss. The
orchards were all in fresh flower,--

"One boundless blush, one white-empurpled shower
Of mingled blossoms";--

the banks were literally blue with violets; the elms were putting out
their tender leaves, just in that passing aspect which Raphael loved to
pencil in the backgrounds of his holy pictures, not as yet printing deep
shadows, but only mottling the sunshine at their feet. The birds were in
full song; the pines were musical with the soft winds they sweetened.
All was in faultless accord, and every heart was filled with the beauty
that flooded the landscape.

The church where the funeral services were performed was luminous with
the whitest blossoms of the luxuriant spring. A great throng of those
who loved him, of those who honored his genius, of those who held him in
kindly esteem as a neighbor and friend, filled the edifice. Most of
those who were present wished to l