Nathaniel Hawthorne | Page 5

Salem by the summer of
1819, when he was just fifteen years old. Even in the winter interval he
seems to have gone for a few weeks to the house of the Rev. Caleb
Bradley, Stroudwater, Westbrook, in the same county as Raymond, to
be tutored. He remained in Salem with his uncles for the next two years,
and was prepared for college, partly, at least, by Benjamin Oliver, a
lawyer, at the expense of his uncle Robert, and during a portion of this
time he earned some money by writing in the office of his uncle
William; but he was occupied chiefly with his studies, reading, and
early compositions. At the beginning of this period, in his first autumn
letters, he mentions having lately read "Waverley," "The Mysteries of
Udolpho," "The Adventures of Ferdinand Count Fathom," "Roderick
Random," and a volume of "The Arabian Nights;" and he has learned
the easy rhyming of first verses, and stuffs his letters with specimens of
his skill, clever stanzas, well written, modulated in the cadences of the
time, with melancholy seriousness and such play of sad fancy as
youthful poets use. He laid little store by his faculty for verse, and yet
he had practiced it from an early childish age and had a fair mastery of
its simple forms; and once or twice in mature life he indulged himself
in writing and even in publishing serious poems. In these years,
however, verses were only a part of the ferment of his literary talent,
nor have any of them individuality. He practiced prose, too, and in the
next summer, 1820, issued four numbers of a boy's paper, "The
Spectator," bearing weekly date from August 21 to September 18, and

apparently he had made an earlier experiment, without date, in such
adolescent journalism; it was printed with a pen on small note-paper,
and contained such serious matter as belongs to themes at school on
"Solitude" and "Industry," with the usual addresses to subscribers and
the liveliness natural to family news-columns. The composition is
smooth and the manner entertaining, and there is abundance of good
spirits and fun of a boyish sort. The paper shows the literary spirit and
taste in its very earliest bud; but no precocity of talent distinguished it,
though doubtless the thought of authorship fed on its tender leaves.
Such experiments belong to the life of growing boys where education is
common and literary facility is thought to be a distinction and sign of
promise in the young; and Hawthorne did not in these ways differ from
the normal boy who was destined for college. Nothing more than these
trifles is to be gleaned of his intellectual life at that time, but two or
three letters pleasantly illustrate his brotherly feeling, his spirits, and
his uncertainties in regard to the future, at the same time that they
display his absorption in the author's craft; and they conclude the
narrative of these early days before college. The first was written in
October, 1820, just after the last issue of "The Spectator," to his
younger sister Louisa, and shows incidentally that these literary
pleasures were a family diversion:--
Dear Sister,--I am very angry with you for not sending me some of
your poetry, which I consider a great piece of ingratitude. You will not
see one line of mine until you return the confidence which I have
placed in you. I have bought the "Lord of the Isles," and intend either to
send or to bring it to you. I like it as well as any of Scott's other poems.
I have read Hogg's "Tales," "Caleb Williams," "St. Leon," and
"Mandeville." I admire Godwin's novels, and intend to read them all. I
shall read the "Abbot," by the author of "Waverley," as soon as I can
hire it. I have read all Scott's novels except that. I wish I had not, that I
might have the pleasure of reading them again. Next to these I like
"Caleb Williams." I have almost given up writing poetry. No man can
be a Poet and a bookkeeper at the same time. I do find this place most
"dismal," and have taken to chewing tobacco with all my might, which,
I think, raises my spirits. Say nothing of it in your letters, nor of the
"Lord of the Isles." ... I do not think I shall ever go to college. I can

scarcely bear the thought of living upon Uncle Robert for four years
longer. How happy I should be to be able to say, "I am Lord of
myself!" You may cut off this part of my letter, and show the other to
Uncle Richard. Do write me some letters in skimmed milk. I must
conclude, as I am in a "monstrous hurry"!
Your affectionate brother,
NATH.