July 30th. Wednesday. [1851]
Got up not much before seven. A chill and lowery morning, with, I think, a south-east wind, threatening rain. Julian lounges about, lies on the floor, and seems in some degree responsive to the weather. I trust we are not going to be visited with a long storm. The day is so unpropitious that we have taken no forenoon walk; but only idle about the barn and garden. Bunny has grown quite familiar, and comes hopping to meet us, whenever we enter the room, and stands on his hind legs, to see whether we have anything for him. Julian has changed his name (which was Spring) to Hind-legs. One finds himself getting rather attached to this gentle little beast, especially when he shows confidence, and makes himself at home. It is rather troublesome, however, to find him food, for he seems to want to eat almost constantly, yet does not like his grass or leaves, unless they are entirely fresh. Bread he nibbles a little, but soon quits it. I have just got him some green oats from Mr. Tappan's field. Of all eatables, he seems to like Julian's shoes better than anything, and indulges himself with a taste of them on all possible occasions. At four o'clock I dressed him up, and we set out for the village; he frisking and capering like a little goat, and gathering flowers like a child of Paradise. The flowers had not the least beauty in them, except what his eyes made by looking at them; nevertheless, he thought them the loveliest in the world. We met a carriage with three or four young ladies, all whom were evidently smitten by his potent charms. Indeed, he seldom passes [illegible] without carrying away her heart. It is very odd ; for I see no such wonderful magic in the young gentleman. Arriving at the Post Office, I found— greatly to my disappointment, for indeed I had not conceived the possibility— no letter from Phoebe, nor anything else for myself; nothing but a letter and paper for Mr. Tappan. So I put in a letter for Pike, which I wrote some days ago and had forgotten to send, and a brief letter for Phoebe, which I wrote to-day — and we immediately set out on our return. Ascending the hill on this side of Mr. Birch's, we met a wagon, in which sat Mr. James, his wife, and daughter, who had just left their cards at our house. Here ensued a talk, quite pleasant and friendly. He is certainly an excellent man, and his wife is a plain, good, friendly, kind-hearted woman, and the daughter a nice girl; nevertheless, Julian thought Mr. James rather tedious, and said that he did not like his talk at all. In fact, the poor little urchin was tired to death with standing. Mr. James spoke of the " House of the Seven Gables," and of " Twice-told Tales," and then branched off upon English literature generally. Reaching home, we found Julian's supper ready, and he has eaten it, and appears quite ready for bed— whither I shall now (at half -past six) consign him. I read "Pendennis" during the evening, and concluded the day with a bowl of egg-nog.
Got up not much before seven. A chill and lowery morning, with, I think, a south-east wind, threatening rain. Julian lounges about, lies on the floor, and seems in some degree responsive to the weather. I trust we are not going to be visited with a long storm. The day is so unpropitious that we have taken no forenoon walk; but only idle about the barn and garden. Bunny has grown quite familiar, and comes hopping to meet us, whenever we enter the room, and stands on his hind legs, to see whether we have anything for him. Julian has changed his name (which was Spring) to Hind-legs. One finds himself getting rather attached to this gentle little beast, especially when he shows confidence, and makes himself at home. It is rather troublesome, however, to find him food, for he seems to want to eat almost constantly, yet does not like his grass or leaves, unless they are entirely fresh. Bread he nibbles a little, but soon quits it. I have just got him some green oats from Mr. Tappan's field. Of all eatables, he seems to like Julian's shoes better than anything, and indulges himself with a taste of them on all possible occasions. At four o'clock I dressed him up, and we set out for the village; he frisking and capering like a little goat, and gathering flowers like a child of Paradise. The flowers had not the least beauty in them, except what his eyes made by looking at them; nevertheless, he thought them the loveliest in the world. We met a carriage with three or four young ladies, all whom were evidently smitten by his potent charms. Indeed, he seldom passes [illegible] without carrying away her heart. It is very odd ; for I see no such wonderful magic in the young gentleman. Arriving at the Post Office, I found— greatly to my disappointment, for indeed I had not conceived the possibility— no letter from Phoebe, nor anything else for myself; nothing but a letter and paper for Mr. Tappan. So I put in a letter for Pike, which I wrote some days ago and had forgotten to send, and a brief letter for Phoebe, which I wrote to-day — and we immediately set out on our return. Ascending the hill on this side of Mr. Birch's, we met a wagon, in which sat Mr. James, his wife, and daughter, who had just left their cards at our house. Here ensued a talk, quite pleasant and friendly. He is certainly an excellent man, and his wife is a plain, good, friendly, kind-hearted woman, and the daughter a nice girl; nevertheless, Julian thought Mr. James rather tedious, and said that he did not like his talk at all. In fact, the poor little urchin was tired to death with standing. Mr. James spoke of the " House of the Seven Gables," and of " Twice-told Tales," and then branched off upon English literature generally. Reaching home, we found Julian's supper ready, and he has eaten it, and appears quite ready for bed— whither I shall now (at half -past six) consign him. I read "Pendennis" during the evening, and concluded the day with a bowl of egg-nog.
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