It is the most joyful sound you can imagine,--the most hopeful,
the most enlivening. I waked before light, and thought I heard some
ineffable music. I thought of the song of the angels on that blessed
morn; but while listening, through a sudden opening in the air, or
breeze blowing towards us, I found it was not the angels, but the
bells of Liverpool. One day when I was driving through Liverpool with
Una and Julian, these bells suddenly broke forth on the occasion of a
marriage, and I could scarcely keep the children in the carriage. They
leaped up and down, and Una declared she would be married in England,
if only to hear the chime of the bells. The mummers stood at our gate
on Christmas morning and sang in the dawn, acting the part of the
heavenly host. The Old Year was tolled out and the New Year chimed in
also, and again the mummers sang at the gate.
Perhaps you have heard of Miss Charlotte Cushman, the actress? The
summer before we left America, she sent a note to Mr. Hawthorne,
requesting him to sit to a lady for his miniature, which she wished to
take to England. Mr. Hawthorne could not refuse, though you can
imagine his repugnance on every account. He went and did penance, and
was then introduced to Miss Cushman. He liked her for a very sensible
person with perfectly simple manners. The other day he met her in
Liverpool, and she told him she had been intending to call on me ever
since she had been at her sister's at Rose Hill Hall, Woolton, seven
miles from Liverpool.
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