{"id":"01KG8AK77VKVW6SYNM6P95WPGR","cid":"bafkreiaut534y7n2xfckyaczjtkcppvasrimgorot2eko67cq2wsniflgu","type":"chunk","properties":{"end_line":1173,"extracted_at":"2026-01-30T20:47:56.335Z","extracted_by":"structure-extraction-lambda","label":"Chunk 1","source_file":"01KG89J1C1N72JCD0ZBGTBX0EX","start_line":1110,"text":"HAWTHORNE AND HIS MOSSES\r\n\r\n_BY A VIRGINIAN SPENDING JULY IN VERMONT_\r\n\r\n\r\nA papered chamber in a fine old farmhouse, a mile from any other\r\ndwelling, and dipped to the eaves in foliage--surrounded by mountains,\r\nold woods, and Indian pools,--this surely, is the place to write of\r\nHawthorne. Some charm is in this northern air, for love and duty seem\r\nboth impelling to the task. A man of a deep and noble nature has seized\r\nme in this seclusion. His wild, witch-voice rings through me; or, in\r\nsofter cadences, I seem to hear it in the songs of the hillside birds\r\nthat sing in the larch trees at my window.\r\n\r\nWould that all excellent books were foundlings, without father or\r\nmother, that so it might be we could glorify them, without including\r\ntheir ostensible authors! Nor would any true man take exception to\r\nthis; least of all, he who writes, \"When the artist rises high enough\r\nto achieve the beautiful, the symbol by which he makes it perceptible\r\nto mortal senses becomes of little value in his eyes, while his spirit\r\npossesses itself in the enjoyment of the reality.\"\r\n\r\nBut more than this. I know not what would be the right name to put on\r\nthe title-page of an excellent book; but this I feel, that the names\r\nof all fine authors are fictitious ones, far more so than that of\r\nJunius; simply standing, as they do, for the mystical ever-eluding\r\nspirit of all beauty, which ubiquitously possesses men of genius.\r\nPurely imaginative as this fancy may appear, it nevertheless seems to\r\nreceive some warranty from the fact, that on a personal interview no\r\ngreat author has ever come up to the idea of his reader. But that dust\r\nof which our bodies are composed, how can it fitly express the nobler\r\nintelligences among us? With reverence be it spoken, that not even in\r\nthe case of one deemed more than man, not even in our Saviour, did his\r\nvisible frame betoken anything of the augustness of the nature within.\r\nElse, how could those Jewish eyewitnesses fail to see heaven in his\r\nglance!\r\n\r\nIt is curious how a man may travel along a country road, and yet miss\r\nthe grandest or sweetest of prospects by reason of an intervening\r\nhedge, so like all other hedges, as in no way to hint of the wide\r\nlandscape beyond. So has it been with me concerning the enchanting\r\nlandscape in the soul of this Hawthorne, this most excellent Man of\r\nMosses. His Old Manse has been written now four years, but I never read\r\nit till a day or two since. I had seen it in the book-stores--heard\r\nof it often--even had it recommended to me by a tasteful friend,\r\nas a rare, quiet book, perhaps too deserving of popularity to be\r\npopular. But there are so many books called \"excellent,\" and so much\r\nunpopular merit, that amid the thick stir of other things, the hint\r\nof my tasteful friend was disregarded and for four years the Mosses\r\non the Old Manse never refreshed me with their perennial green. It\r\nmay be, however, that all this while the book, likewise, was only\r\nimproving in flavor and body. At any rate, it so chanced that this long\r\nprocrastination eventuated in a happy result. At breakfast the other\r\nday, a mountain girl, a cousin of mine, who for the last two weeks has\r\nevery morning helped me to strawberries and raspberries, which, like\r\nthe roses and pearls in the fairy tale, seemed to fall into the saucer\r\nfrom those strawberry-beds, her cheeks--this delightful creature,\r\nthis charming Cherry says to me--\"I see you spend your mornings in the\r\nhaymow; and yesterday I found there Dwight's _Travels in New England_.\r\nNow I have something far better than that, something more congenial to\r\nour summer on these hills. Take these raspberries, and then I will give\r\nyou some moss.\" \"Moss!\" said I. \"Yes, and you must take it to the barn\r\nwith you, and good-by to Dwight.\"\r\n\r","title":"Chunk 1"},"relationships":[{"peer":"01KG8AJJJHK56PS5G4VD1NXGJ7","peer_type":"chapter","predicate":"in"},{"peer":"01KG89J1C1N72JCD0ZBGTBX0EX","peer_type":"file","predicate":"extractedFrom"},{"peer":"01KG89HMDZKNY753EZE1CJ8HZW","peer_type":"collection","predicate":"collection"},{"peer":"01KG8AK781YWSCCYK0EXERQM8V","peer_type":"chunk","predicate":"next"}],"ver":2,"created_at":"2026-01-30T20:47:57.179Z","ts":"2026-01-30T20:48:05.104Z","edited_by":{"method":"manual","user_id":"01KFF0H3YRP9ZSM033AM0QJ47H"}}