The scenery is lovely in the extreme, with just the right balance of hill & plain. A late sputtering of snow gently descends, almost all wildlife is still in its wintery hibernation. It is not so vivid a location as Vermont, but everything seems much richer & statelier; with larger trees & more luxuriant vegetation. We stride past the plant life & enter the town proper, ducking under a wooden placard announcing the location: Dunwich. The houses in this decadent Massachusetts town are old, but not notable in any manner. The population is quite sharply divided—the good families are maintaining their old standards whilst the common folk are rapidly trodding downhill.

Four miles past the village, a mile & a half from any other dwelling, we approach a large & partly inhabited farmhouse set against the hillside. Thru an upper story window we peer, seeing by the slight illumination of a candle that there is a man sitting before a desk, quill in hand & blank book before him.