Memories of Hawthorne

by Rose Hawthorne Lathrop

Julian enjoyed the rocks and beaches and sea-bathing at Mona greatly, and on his return here was homesick for it all for two days. Una grew so homesick for Rockferry that she could hardly be kept away till I was ready to come, though she also enjoyed the sea and the island very much. But I think she has inhabitiveness to a great degree. As to Rose, she was like a sunbeam from morning to night. . . . I have a slight journal of my visit to the Isle of Man, written at the earnest request of Mr. Hawthorne.

Rose is in no danger of forgetting you. We talk to her about you a great deal, and she is always referring to "When I was in 'Morica." Miss Martineau is about Liverpool, and while I was at the island Mr. Bright took Mr. Hawthorne to see her. She was extremely agreeable and brilliant. She has become quite infidel in her opinions. . . . It must be either a fool or a madman who says there is no GOD. . . . I had a delightful visit from the Cochrans, and went with them to Chester. Martha was deeply affected by the Cathedral, especially by the cloisters. Tears filled her eyes. After luncheon, we went to see a Roman bath and a Roman crypt, the last discovered within a few months. The bath is back of, and beneath, a crockery shop. We saw first a cold bath. It was merely an oblong stone basin, built round a perpetual spring. A high iron railing now guards it, and we looked into what seemed almost a well, where the Romans used to plunge. . . . The black water reflected the candle and glittered far below. It might be the eye of one of the twentieth legion. We then went into a shop and asked for the crypt. The men pointed to a door, which we opened, and nearly tumbled down some stone steps. By degrees our eyes became owlish, and we gradually saw, as if looming out of past ages, the beautiful arches of the roof, and the columns on each side. . . .

My mother gives a glimpse of the vicissitudes of the Consulate,—that precinct which I pictured as an ogre's lair, though the ogre was temporarily absent, while my father, like a prince bewitched, had been compelled by a rash vow to languish in the man-eater's place for a term of years:—

"In the evening Mr. Hawthorne told me that there were suddenly thrown upon his care two hundred soldiers who had been shipwrecked in the San Francisco, and that he must clothe and board them and send them home to the United States. They were picked up somewhere on the sea and brought to Liverpool. Mr. Hawthorne has no official authority to take care of any but sailors in distress. He invited the lieutenant to come and stay here, and he must take care of the soldiers, even if the expense comes out of his own purse." [Later.] "Mr. Hawthorne sent to Mr. Buchanan (the Ambassador) about the soldiers, and he would share no responsibility, though it was much more a matter pertaining to his powers than to a consul. . . . Mr. Hawthorne has supplied them with clothes and lodgings, and has finally chartered for their passage home one of the Cunard steamers! Such are his official reverses."

"Last Friday I received a note from the wife of the U. S. Consul at London, inviting me and the children to go with Mr. Hawthorne to town, to see the Queen open Parliament. It was such a cordial invitation that it was nearly impossible to refuse; but we could not go, Mr. Hawthorne was so busy with these soldiers, and with trials in the police courts; so that he could not leave his post." [Still later.] "As to shipwrecked sailors, there seems no end to them; and for all Mr. Hawthorne's costs for them he is, of course, repaid. His hands are full all the time. But in the history of the world, it is said, there never were so many shipwrecks as there have been this last winter. The coasts of Great Britain seem to have been nothing but stumbling-blocks in the way of every ship. . . . I have seen, in an American paper, a passage in which the writer undertakes to defend my husband from some dirty aspersions. It seems that some one had told the absolute falsehood that he had shirked all responsibility about the shipwrecked soldiers, and his defender stated the case just as it was, and that Mr. Buchanan declined having anything to do with the matter. The government will make the chartering of the steamer good to Mr. Hawthorne. . . . He has been very busily occupied at the Consulate this winter and spring,—so many disasters at sea, and vagabonds asking for money. He has already lost more than a hundred pounds by these impostors. But he is very careful indeed, and those persons who have proved dishonest were gentlemen in their own esteem, and it was difficult to suspect them. But he is well on his guard now; and he says the moment he sees a coat-tail he knows whether the man it belongs to is going to beg! His life in the Consulate is not charming. He has to pay a great penalty for the result of his toil. Not that he has any drudgery, but he is imprisoned and in harness. He will not let me take a pen in my hand when he is at home, because at any rate I see him so little."

Such paragraphs as the one I add, from a little letter of my sister's, often appear; but in this instance it was the glad exclamation of release, just before we removed to Italy:—

"Papa will be with us on Monday, free from the terrors of the old Consulate. Perhaps you can imagine what infinitely joyful news that is to us; and to him, too, as much, if not more so; for he has had all the work, and we have only suffered from his absence."

The letters proceed:—

MY DEAR FATHER,—It was delightful to see your handwriting this week, written with the same firmness as ever. It gives me unspeakable satisfaction to know that the drafts Mr. Hawthorne sent contribute to your ease, and supply you with embellishments and luxuries, which in sickness are necessaries. I only wish I could put strength into your limbs, as well as provide you with a stuffed chair to repose them upon. Mr. Hawthorne has wished, you see, to prevent your having any anxiety about little wants. It will be all right for the present, and future too. . . . I suppose the War will affect everything in a disastrous manner, except the End, and that God will take into His own hands for good, no doubt, though not as either party proposes.

Here in England we are wholly occupied with the War. No one thinks or talks of anything else. Every face is grave with sorrow for the suffering and slaughter, and then triumphant with pride and joy at the incredible heroism of the troops. . . . In his sermon before the last, Mr. Channing brought out my dearest, inmost doctrines and faith; the sovereignty of good; the unfallen ideal in man; the impossibility of God's ever for one moment turning from man, or being averse to him; the essential transitoriness of evil. . . . I deeply regret that Una and Julian cannot hear the sermons for the little people, for I think it would do much towards saving their souls.