States, Hawthorne was appointed consul at Liverpool, whither
he sailed in 1853, resigning in 1857 to go to Rome, and
returning to America four years later. "Our Old Home" is the
fruit of this period spent in England. It was written at
Concord, and first appeared serially during 1863 in the
"Atlantic Monthly." Although "Our Old Home" gave no little
offence to English readers, nevertheless it exhibits the
author as keenly observant of their characteristics and life.
(See FICTION.)

_I.--Consular Experiences_

The Liverpool Consulate of the United States, in my day, was located in
Washington Buildings, in the neighbourhood of some of the oldest docks.
Here in a stifled and dusky chamber I spent wearily four good years of
my existence. Hither came a great variety of visitors, principally
Americans, but including almost every other nationality, especially the
distressed and downfallen ones. All sufferers, or pretended ones, in the
cause of Liberty sought the American Consulate in hopes of bread, and
perhaps to beg a passage to the blessed home of Freedom.

My countrymen seemed chiselled in sharper angles than I had imagined at
home. They often came to the Consulate in parties merely to see how
their public servant was getting on with his duties.

No people on earth have such vagabond habits as ourselves. A young
American will deliberately spend all his resources in an aesthetic
peregrination of Europe. Often their funds held out just long enough to
bring them to the doors of my Consulate. Among these stray Americans I
remember one ragged, patient old man, who soberly affirmed that he had
been wandering about England more than a quarter of a century, doing his
utmost to get home, but never rich enough to pay his passage.

I recollect another queer, stupid, fat-faced individual, a country
shopkeeper from Connecticut, who had come over to England solely to have
an interview with the queen. He had named one of his children for her
majesty, and the other for Prince Albert, and had transmitted
photographs of them to the illustrious godmother, which had been
acknowledged by her secretary. He also had a fantastic notion that he
was rightful heir to a rich English estate. The cause of this particular
insanity lies deep in the Anglo-American heart. We still have an
unspeakable yearning towards England, and I might fill many pages with
instances of this diseased American appetite for En