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Hawthorne, Nathaniel, 1804-1864

"The Blithedale Romance"

" Especially does the
misapplication of this phrase bring out that latent hostility which
is sure to animate peculiar sects, and those who, with however
generous a purpose, have sequestered themselves from the crowd; a
feeling, it is true, which may be hidden in some dog-kennel of the
heart, grumbling there in the darkness, but is never quite extinct,
until the dissenting party have gained power and scope enough to
treat the world generously. For my part, I should have taken it as
far less an insult to be styled "fellow," "clown," or "bumpkin." To
either of these appellations my rustic garb (it was a linen blouse,
with checked shirt and striped pantaloons, a chip hat on my head, and
a rough hickory stick in my hand) very fairly entitled me. As the
case stood, my temper darted at once to the opposite pole; not friend,
but enemy!
"What do you want with me?" said I, facing about.
"Come a little nearer, friend," said the stranger, beckoning.
"No," answered I. "If I can do anything for you without too much
trouble to myself, say so. But recollect, if you please, that you
are not speaking to an acquaintance, much less a friend!"
"Upon my word, I believe not!" retorted he, looking at me with some
curiosity; and, lifting his hat, he made me a salute which had enough
of sarcasm to be offensive, and just enough of doubtful courtesy to
render any resentment of it absurd. "But I ask your pardon! I
recognize a little mistake. If I may take the liberty to suppose it,
you, sir, are probably one of the aesthetic--or shall I rather say
ecstatic?--laborers, who have planted themselves hereabouts.


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