And there was my husband, careering about, glorified by the light.

Such is Paradise.
"In the evening we are gathered together beneath our luminous star in the study, for we have a large hanging astral lamp, which beautifully illumines the room, with its walls of pale yellow paper, its Holy Mother over the fireplace, and pleasant books, and its pretty bronze vase on one of the secretaries, filled with ferns.

Except once, Mr.Emerson, no one hunts us out in the evening.

Then Mr.Hawthorne reads to me.

At present we can only get along with the old English writers, and we find that they are the hive from which all modern honey is stolen.