Monday P. M. Mr. Hawthorne, Una, and Julian have gone to the picnic. This morning I went to the post-office, for I did not like to send Una when boys were firing crackers in every direction. Julian always is my shadow--so he went with me. I stopped at Mrs. Emerson's, to ask her when and how her children were going. I found a superb George Washington in the dining-room, nearly as large as life, engraved from Stuart's painting. We saw no one of the family, but finally a door opened, and the rich music of Mr. Emerson's voice filled the entry. Julian ran out at the sound, and Ellen and her father came into the room. Mr. Emerson asked me if that head (pointing to Washington) were not a fine celebration of the Fourth of July. "He would seem to have absorbed into that face all the serenity of these United States, and left none elsewhere, excepting" (and he laid his hand on Julian)--"excepting what is in Julian. Washington is the Great Repose, and Julian is the Little Repose--hereafter to become also the Great Repose!" He asked if Julian were going to the picnic; and I told him "no," as I was not going. "Oh, but if Una is going, that would be a divided cherry, would it not?" Finding that Mrs. Emerson was to go, and that they were all to ride, I of course had no objection. And then Mr. Emerson wanted Mr. Hawthorne to go with him, at five o'clock. My lord consented, and so they are all gone. Last evening, Mrs. Emerson came to see us with her sister, loaded with roses, and she was delighted with our house. Rosebud walked all round with us, in perfect sobriety, listening to our conversation. Is not this hot weather delightful? It is to me luxury and strength. Mr. Hawthorne has sold the grass for thirty dollars. He has cut his bean-poles in his own woods. We find The Wayside prettier and prettier. Baby keeps pulling my arm. Your child, SOPHY. CHAPTER VIII THE LIVERPOOL CONSULATE The letters to Mrs. Peabody sketch on:-- DEAREST MOTHER,--We have had an Englishman here, an artist, whom George Putnam [a cousin] sent to take sketches. He came here with his carpet-bag, and there seemed nothing to be done but to ask him to stay with us while in town. I was the more glad to do so, hoping thereby to save George some pennies, as I was obliged to disappoint him about making the drawings myself. This artist is from the North of England. He seems very good and simple-hearted, and he talks like the Cataract of Lodore. He has the magnetic influence upon Mr. Hawthorne which produces sleepiness. He is enchanted with The Wayside.