Front Cover
 Title Page
 Table of Contents
 Legends of the Province House
 The Haunted Mind
 The Village Uncle
 The Ambitious Guest
 The Sister Years
 The Seven Vagabonds
 The White Old Maid
 Peter Goldthwaites Treasure
 Chippings with a Chisel
 The Shaker Bridal
 Night Sketches
 Endicott and the Red Cross
 The Lily's Quest
 Footprints on the Sea-Shore
 Edward Fane's Rosebud
 The Threefold Destiny
 Back Cover

Title: Twice-told tales
Full Citation
Permanent Link: http://ufdc.ufl.edu/UF00028431/00001
 Material Information
Title: Twice-told tales
Physical Description: 2 v. : ; 16 cm.
Language: English
Creator: Hawthorne, Nathaniel, 1804-1864
James R. Osgood and Company ( Publisher )
University Press (Cambridge, Mass.) ( Printer )
Welch, Bigelow & Co ( Printer )
Publisher: James R. Osgood and Co.
Place of Publication: Boston
Manufacturer: University Press ; Welch, Bigelow, & Co.
Publication Date: 1876, c1851
Copyright Date: 1851
Subject: Children's stories   ( lcsh )
Historical fiction, American -- Juvenile fiction -- 19th century   ( lcsh )
Social life and customs -- Juvenile fiction -- New England   ( lcsh )
Children's stories -- 1876   ( lcsh )
Publishers' advertisements -- 1876   ( rbgenr )
Genre: Children's stories   ( lcsh )
Publishers' advertisements   ( rbgenr )
novel   ( marcgt )
Spatial Coverage: United States -- Massachusetts -- Boston
United States -- Massachusetts -- Cambridge
Statement of Responsibility: by Nathaniel Hawthorne.
General Note: Title page printed in red and black within red and black rules.
General Note: Publisher's advertisements precede text.
Funding: Preservation and Access for American and British Children's Literature, 1870-1889 (NEH PA-50860-00).
 Record Information
Bibliographic ID: UF00028431
Volume ID: VID00001
Source Institution: University of Florida
Holding Location: Baldwin Library of Historical Children's Literature in the Department of Special Collections and Area Studies, George A. Smathers Libraries, University of Florida
Rights Management: All rights reserved, Board of Trustees of the University of Florida.
Resource Identifier: aleph - 002231355
notis - ALH1728
oclc - 61250005

Table of Contents
    Front Cover
        Cover 1
        Cover 2
        Page i
        Page ii
    Title Page
        Page iii
        Page iv
    Table of Contents
        Page v
        Page vi
    Legends of the Province House
        I: Howe's Masquerade
            Page 7
            Page 8
            Page 9
            Page 10
            Page 11
            Page 12
            Page 13
            Page 14
            Page 15
            Page 16
            Page 17
            Page 18
            Page 19
            Page 20
            Page 21
            Page 22
            Page 23
            Page 24
            Page 25
        II: Edward Randolph's Portrait
            Page 26
            Page 27
            Page 28
            Page 29
            Page 30
            Page 31
            Page 32
            Page 33
            Page 34
            Page 35
            Page 36
            Page 37
            Page 38
            Page 39
            Page 40
            Page 41
        III: Lady Eleanore's Mantle
            Page 42
            Page 43
            Page 44
            Page 45
            Page 46
            Page 47
            Page 48
            Page 49
            Page 50
            Page 51
            Page 52
            Page 53
            Page 54
            Page 55
            Page 56
            Page 57
            Page 58
            Page 59
            Page 60
            Page 61
        IV: Old Esther Dudley
            Page 62
            Page 63
            Page 64
            Page 65
            Page 66
            Page 67
            Page 68
            Page 69
            Page 70
            Page 71
            Page 72
            Page 73
            Page 74
            Page 75
            Page 76
    The Haunted Mind
        Page 77
        Page 78
        Page 79
        Page 80
        Page 81
        Page 82
    The Village Uncle
        Page 83
        Page 84
        Page 85
        Page 86
        Page 87
        Page 88
        Page 89
        Page 90
        Page 91
        Page 92
        Page 93
        Page 94
        Page 95
        Page 96
        Page 97
    The Ambitious Guest
        Page 98
        Page 99
        Page 100
        Page 101
        Page 102
        Page 103
        Page 104
        Page 105
        Page 106
        Page 107
        Page 108
    The Sister Years
        Page 109
        Page 110
        Page 111
        Page 112
        Page 113
        Page 114
        Page 115
        Page 116
        Page 117
        Page 118
        Page 119
        Page 120
        Page 121
        Page 122
        Page 123
        Page 124
        Page 125
    The Seven Vagabonds
        Page 126
        Page 127
        Page 128
        Page 129
        Page 130
        Page 131
        Page 132
        Page 133
        Page 134
        Page 135
        Page 136
        Page 137
        Page 138
        Page 139
        Page 140
        Page 141
        Page 142
        Page 143
        Page 144
        Page 145
        Page 146
        Page 147
    The White Old Maid
        Page 148
        Page 149
        Page 150
        Page 151
        Page 152
        Page 153
        Page 154
        Page 155
        Page 156
        Page 157
        Page 158
        Page 159
        Page 160
        Page 161
    Peter Goldthwaites Treasure
        Page 162
        Page 163
        Page 164
        Page 165
        Page 166
        Page 167
        Page 168
        Page 169
        Page 170
        Page 171
        Page 172
        Page 173
        Page 174
        Page 175
        Page 176
        Page 177
        Page 178
        Page 179
        Page 180
        Page 181
        Page 182
        Page 183
        Page 184
        Page 185
        Page 186
        Page 187
    Chippings with a Chisel
        Page 188
        Page 189
        Page 190
        Page 191
        Page 192
        Page 193
        Page 194
        Page 195
        Page 196
        Page 197
        Page 198
        Page 199
        Page 200
    The Shaker Bridal
        Page 201
        Page 202
        Page 203
        Page 204
        Page 205
        Page 206
        Page 207
        Page 208
    Night Sketches
        Page 209
        Page 210
        Page 211
        Page 212
        Page 213
        Page 214
        Page 215
        Page 216
    Endicott and the Red Cross
        Page 217
        Page 218
        Page 219
        Page 220
        Page 221
        Page 222
        Page 223
        Page 224
        Page 225
    The Lily's Quest
        Page 226
        Page 227
        Page 228
        Page 229
        Page 230
        Page 231
        Page 232
        Page 233
        Page 234
    Footprints on the Sea-Shore
        Page 235
        Page 236
        Page 237
        Page 238
        Page 239
        Page 240
        Page 241
        Page 242
        Page 243
        Page 244
        Page 245
        Page 246
        Page 247
    Edward Fane's Rosebud
        Page 248
        Page 249
        Page 250
        Page 251
        Page 252
        Page 253
        Page 254
        Page 255
        Page 256
    The Threefold Destiny
        Page 257
        Page 258
        Page 259
        Page 260
        Page 261
        Page 262
        Page 263
        Page 264
        Page 265
        Page 266
        Page 267
        Page 268
    Back Cover
        Cover 1
        Cover 2
Full Text

The Baldwin Library
RmB lid


Nine vols. i2mo. Price, per vol. ......................... $2.oo
Twice-Told Tales. The English Note-Books.
Mosses from an Old Manse. The American Note-Books.
The Scarlet Letter, and The The French and Italian Note.
Blithedale Romance. Books.
The House of the Seven Gables, Our Old Home, and Septimius
and The Snow Image. Felton.
The Marble Faun.

Complete, z2 vols., on Tinted Paper, in Box ..............42.00

OUR OLD HOME. r6mo ................................. $2.00
THE MARBLE FA UN. 2 vols. i6mo................... 4.00
THE SCARLET LETTER. 6mo0..................... 2.00
THE HOUSE OF THE SEPL-EN GABLES. 16mo1....... 2.00
TIFICE-TOLD TALES. With Portrait. 2 vols. 16moo... 4.00
THE SNVOIL-1,4AGE, and Other Twuce-Told iales ...... .00
THE BLITHEDALE ROMANCE. 16mo ............... 2.00
MOSSES FROM AIV OLD iMAXSE. 2 vols. 16no4..... 4 00
AMERICAN NOTE-BOOKS. 2 vols 161mo............. 4.00
ENGLISH NOTE-BOOKS. 2 vols. 6moo............... 4.00
FRENCH AND ITALIAN NOTE-BOOK1S. 2 vols. 16tio. 400
SEPTM1IUS FELTO.V; or, T/e ElZivr of Lf. 16mo... 1.50
TIlTCE-TOLD TALES. With Portrait. Blue and Gold.
2 vols. 32m o............. .......... ............... 300

Illustrated. 6mo ....................... ................. 150
THIE WO.XDER-BOOLK Illustrated. 16, o .............. i.5o
7TA.GLEIl'OOD TALES. Illustrated. 16mo............. i.50

** For si ookscllers. Sent, pos -paid, on receipt of
price by the ,
JAMES R. OSGOOD & CO., Boston.




Late Ticknor & Fields, anld Fields, Osood, & Co.































-NE afternoon, last summer, while walking along
W ashington Street, my eye was attracted by a
S i -,;n-board protruding over a narrow archway,
nearly opposite the Old South Church. The sign repre-
sented the front of a stately edifice, which was designated
as the "OLD PROVINCE HOUSE, kept by Thomas Waite."
I was glad to be thus reminded of a purpose, long enter-
tained, of visiting and rambling over the mansion of the
old royal governors of Massachusetts; and entering the
arched passage, which penetrated through the middle of
a brick row of shops, a few steps transported me from
the busy heart of modern Boston into a small and se-
cluded court-yard. Olne side of this space was occupied
by the square front of the Province House, three stories
high, and surmounted by a cupola, on the top of which a


gilded Indian was discernible, with his bow bent and his
arrow on the string, as if aiming at the weathercock on
the spire of the Old South. The figure has kept this at-
titude for seventy years or more, ever since good Deacon
Drowne, a cumning carver of wood, first stationed him on
his long sentinel's watch over the city.
The Province House is constructed of brick, which
seems recently to have been overlaid with a coat of light-
colored paint. A flight of red freestone steps, fenced in
by a balustrade of curiously wrought iron, ascends from
the court-yard to the spacious porch, over which is a bal-
cony, with an iron balustrade of similar pattern and work-
manship to that beneath. These letters and figures-
16 P. S. 79-are wrought into the iron-work of the
balcony, and probably express the date of the edifice,
with the initials of its founder's name. A wide door will
double leaves admitted me into the hall or entry, on the
right of which is tie entrance to the har-room.
It was in this apartment, I presume, that the ancient
governors held their levees, with vice-regal pomp, sur-
rounded by the military men, the councillors, the judges,
and other officers of the crown, while all the loyalty of
the province thronged to do them honor. But the room,
in its present condition, cannot boast even of faded mag-
nificence. The panelled wainscot is covered with dingy
paint, and acquires a duskier hue from lhe deep shadow
into which the Province House is thrown by the brick
block that shuts it in from Washington Street. A ray
of sunshine never visits this apartment any more than I lie
glare of the festal torches which have been extinguished
from the era of the Revolution. The most venerable and
ornamental object is a chimney-piece set round with
Dutch tiles of blue-ii, -. .1 China, representing scenes
from Scripture; and, for aught 1 know, the lady of


Pownall or Bernard may have sat beside this fireplace,
and told her children the story of each blue tile. A bar
in modern style, well replenished with decanters, bottles,
cigar-boxes, and network bags of Icmons, and provided
"with a beer-pump and a soda-fount, extends along one
side of the room. At my entrance, an elderly person
was smacking his lips, with a zest which satisfied me that
the cellars of the Province House still hold good liquor,
though doubtless of other vintages than were quaffed by
the old governors. After sipping a glass of port sangaree,
prepared by the skilful hands of Mr. Thomas Waite, I be-
sought that worthy successor and representative of so
many historic personages to conduct me over their time-
honored mansion.
lie readily complied; but, to confess the truth, I was
forced to draw strenuously upon my imagination, in order
to find aught that was interesting in a house which, with-
out its historic associations, would have seemed merely
such a tavern as is usually favored by the custom of
decent city boarders and old-fashioned country gentle-
minni. T lhe chambers, which were probably spacious in
former times, are now cut up by partitions, and subdi-
vided into little nooks, each ill.. ..i scanty room for
tile narrow bed and chair and dressing-table of a single
lodger. The great staircase, however, may be termed,
without much hyperbole, a feature of grandeur and mag-
nificence. It winds through the midst of the house by
flights of broad steps, coach flight terminating in a square
landing-place, whence the ascent is continued towards the
cupola. A carved balustrade, freshly painted in the lower
stories, but growing dingier as we ascend, borders the
staircase with its quaintly twisted and intertwined pillars,
from top to bottom. Up these stairs the military boots,
or perchance the gouty shoes, of many a governor have


trodden, as the wearers mounted to the cupola, which
afforded them so wide a view over their metropolis and
the surrounding country. The cupola is an octagon, with
several windows, and a door opening upon the roof.
From this station, as I pleased myself with imagining,
Gage may have beheld his disastrous victory on Bunker
Hill (unless one of the tri-mountains intervened), and
Ilowe have marked the approaches of Washington's be-
sieging army; :ili...,,l, the buildings, since erected in
the vicinity, have shut out ahlost every object, save the
steeple of the Old South, which seems almost within
arm's length. Descending from the cupola, 1 paused in
the garret to observe the ponderous white-oak frame-
work, so much more massive than the frames of modern
houses, and thereby resembling an antique skeleton. The
brick walls, the materials of which were imported from
Holland, and the timbers of the mansion, are still as
sound as ever; but the floors and other interior parts
being .-i.,l', decayed, it is contemplated to gut the
whole, and build a new house within the ancient frame
and brick-work. Among other inconveniences of the
present edifice, mine host mentioned that any jar or
motion was apt to shake down the dust of ages out
of the ceiling of one chamber upon the floor of that
beneath it.
We stepped forth from tlie great front window into the
balcony, where, in old times, it was doubtless the custom
of the king's representative to show himself to a loyal
populace, requiting their huzzas and tossed-up hats with
stately bendings of his dignified person. In those days,
the front of the Province House looked upon the street;
and the whole site now occupied by the brick range of
stores, as well as the present court-yard, was laid out in
grass-plats, overshadowed by trees and bordered by a


wrought-iron fence. Now, the old aristocratic edifice
hides its time-worn visage behind an upstart modern
building; at one of the back windows I observed some
pretty tailoresses, sewing, and chatting, and laughing,
with now and then a careless glance towards the balcony.
Descending thence, we again entered the bar-room, where
the elderly gentleman above mentioned, the smack of
whose lips had spoken so favorably for Mr. Waite's good
liquor, was still lounging in his chair. He seemed to be,
if not a lodger, at least a familiar visitor of the house,
who might be supposed to have his regular score at the
bar, his summer seat at the open window, and his pre-
scriptive corner at the winter's fireside. Being of a
sociable aspect, I ventured to address him with a remark,
calculated to draw forth his historical reminiscences, if
any such were in his mind; and it gratified me to dis-
cover, that, between memory and tradition, the old gen-
tleman was really possessed of some very pleasant gossip
about the Province House. The portion of his talk which
chiefly interested me was the outline of the 1..i.,;,
legend. He professed to have received it at one or two
removes from an eye-witness; but this derivation, to-
gethlr with the lapse of time, must have afforded oppor-
tunities for many variations of the narrative; so that,
despairing of literal and absolute truth, I have not scru-
pled to make such further changes as seemed conducive
to the reader's profit and delight.

At one of the entertainments given at the Province
House, during the latter part of the siege of Boston,
there passed a scene which has never yet been satis-
factorily explained. The officers of the British army,


and the loyal gentry of the province, most of whom were
collected within the beleaguered town, had been invited
to a masked ball; for it was the policy of Sir William
Howe to hide the distress and danger of the period, and
the desperate aspect of the siege, under an ostentation
of festivity. The spectacle of this evening, if the oldest
members of the provincial court circle might be believed,
was the most gay and gorgeous affair that had occurred
in the annals of the government. The brilliantly lighted
apartments were thronged with figures that seemed to
have stepped from the dark canvas of historic portraits,
or to have flitted forth from the magic pages of romance,
or at least to have flown hither from one of the London
theatres, without a change of garments. Steeled knights
of the Conquest, bearded statesmen of Queen Elizabeth,
and high-ruffled ladies of her court, were mingled with
characters of comedy, such as a party-colored Merry'
Andrew, jingling his cap and bells; a Falstaff, almost as
provocative of laughter as his prototype; and a Don
Quixote, with a bean-pole for a lance and a potlid for a
But the broadest merriment was excited by a group
of figures ridiculously dressed in old regimentals, which
seemed to have been purchased at a military rag-fair, or
pilfered from some receptacle of the cast-off clothes of
both the French and British armies: Portions of their
attire had probably been worn at the siege of Louisburg,
and the coats of most recent cut might have been rent
and tattered by sword, ball, or bayonet, as long ago as
Wolfe's victory. One of these worthies-a tall, lank
figure, brandishing a rusty sword of immense longitude
--purported to be no less a personage than General
George Washington; and the other principal officers of
the American army, such as Gates, Lee, Putnam, Schuy-


ler, Ward, and Heath, were represented by shnilar scare-
crows. An interview in the mock-heroic style, between
the rebel warriors and the British commander-in-chief,
was received with immense applause, which came loudest
of all from the loyalists of the colony. There was one
of the guests, however, who stood apart, eying these
antics sternly and ... I..111 at once with a frown and a
bitter smile.
It was an old man, formerly of high station and great
repute in the province, and who had been a very famous
soldier in his day. Some surprise had been expressed,
that a person of Colonel Joliffe's known whig principles,
though now too old to take an active part in the contest,
should have remained in Boston during the siege, and
especially that he should consent to show himself in the
mansion of Sir William Iowe. But thither he had come,
witl a fair granddaughter under his arm; and there,
amid all the mirth and buffoonery, stood this stern old
figure, the best sustained character in the masquerade, be-
cause so well representing the antique spirit of his native
land. The other guests affirmed that Colonel Joliffe's
black puritanical scowl threw a shadow round about
him; although in spite of his sombre influence, their
gaycty continued to blaze higher, like (an ominous
"comparison) the :1;i.,;,, brilliancy of a lamp which
has but a little whileto burn. Eleven strokes, full half
an hour ago, had pealed from the clock of the Old South,
when a rumor was circulated among the company that
some new spectacle or pageant was about to be exhibited,
which should put a fitting close to the splendid festivities
of the night.
"What new jest has your Excellency in hand ?" asked
the Rev. MIather Byles, whose Presbyterian scruples had
not kept him from the entertainment. Trust me, s:r,


I have already laughed more than beseems my cloth, at
your Homeric confabulation with yonder r.,igioifin gen-
eral of the rebels. One other such fit of merriment, and
I must throw off my clerical wig and band."
"Not so, good Dr. Byles," answered Sir William
Howe; "if mirth were a crime, you had never gained
your doctorate in divinity. As to this new foolery, I
know no more about it than yourself; perhaps not so
much. Honestly now, Doctor, have you not stirred up
the sober brains of some of your countrymen to enact a
scene in our masquerade ? "
"Perhaps," slyly remarked the granddaughter of Col-
onel Joliffe, whose high spirit had been stung by many
taunts against New England, perhaps we are to have
a mask of allegorical figures. Victory, with trophies from
Lexington and Bunker Hill, Plenty, with her over-
flowing horn, to typify the present abundance in this
good town, and Glory, with a wreath for his Excel-
lency's brow."
Sir William Howe smiled at words which lie would
have answered with one of his darkest frowns, had they
been uttered by lips that wore a beard. He was spared
the necessity of a retort, by a singular interruption. A
sound of music was heard without the house, as if pro-
ceeding from a full band of military instruments stationed
in the street, playing, not such a festal strain as was
suited to the occasion, but a slow funeral march. Tlhe
drums appeared to be muffled, and the trumpets poured
forth a wailing breath, which at once hushed the merri-
ment of the auditors, filling all with wonder and some
with apprehension. Tile idea occurred to many, that
either the funeral procession of some great personage had
halted in front of the Province House, or that a corpse,
in a velvet-covered and gorgeously decorated coffin, was


about to be borne from the portal. After listening a
moment, Sir William Howe called, in a stern voice, to
the leader of the musicians, who had hitherto enlivened
the entertainment with gay and lightsome melodies.
The man was drum-major to one of the British regi-
"Dighton," demanded the general, what means this
foolery ? Bid your band silence that dead march; or,
by my word, they shall have sufficient cause for their
lugubrious strains Silence it, sirrah "
"Please your Honor," answered the drum-major,
whose rubicund visage had lost all its color, the fault
is none of mine. I and my band are all here together;
and I question whether there be a man of us that could
play that march without book. I never heard it but
once before, and that was at the funeral of' his late
Majesty, King George the Second."
Well, well! said Sir William Howe, recovering
his composure; "it is the prelude to some masquerad-
ing antic. Let it pass."
A figure now presented itself, but, among the many
fantastic masks that were dispersed through the apart-
ments, none could tell precisely from whence it came.
It was a man in an old-fashioned dress of black serge,
and having the aspect of a steward, or principal domestic
in the household of a nobleman, or great English land-
holder. This figure advanced to the outer door of the
mansion, and throwing both its leaves wide open, with-
drew a little to one side and looked back towards the
g,'and staircase, as if expecting some person to descend.
At the same time, the music in the street sounded a loud
and doleful summons. The eyes of Sir William Howe
and his guests being directed to the staircase, there
app-'ared, on the uppermost landing-place that was dis-


cernible from the bottom, several personages descending
towards the door. The foremost was a man of stern
visage, wearing a steeple-crowned hat and a skullcap
beneath it; a dark cloak, and huge wrinkled boots that
came half-way up his legs. Under his arm was a rolled-
up banner, which seemed to he the banner of England,
but strangely rent and torn ; lie had a sword in his right
hand, and grasped a Bible in his left. The next figure
was of milder aspect, yet full of dignity, wearing a broad
ruff, over which descended a beard, a gown of wrought
velvet, and a doublet and hose of black satin. He car-
ried a roll of manuscript in his hand. Close behind
these two came a young man of very striking counte-
nance and demeanor, with deep -ia.. -.it and contempla-
tion on his brow, and perhaps a flash of enthusiasm in
his eye. His garb, like that of his predecessors, was of
an antique fashion, and I here was a stain of blood upon
his ruff. In the same group with these were three or
four others, all men of dignity and evident command,
and bearing themselves like personages who were accus-
tomed to the gaze of the multitude. It was the idea of
the beholders, that these figures went to join the myste-
rious funeral that had halted in front of the Province
House; yet that supposition seemed to be contradicted
by the air of triumph witl which they waved their hands,
as they crossed the threshold and vanished through the
"In the Devil's name, what is this?" muttered Sir
William Howe to a gentleman beside him; "a pro-
cession of the regicide judges of King Charles the
These," said Colonel Joliffe, breaking silence almost
for the first time that evening, "these, if I interpret
them aright, are the Puritan governors, the rulers of


the old, original democracy of Massachusetts. Endi-
cott, with the banner from which lie had torn the sym-
bol of subjection, and Winthrop, and Sir Henry Vane,
and Dudley, Haynes, L. i,, ...... and Leverett."
Why lad that young man a stain of blood upon his
ruff ? asked Miss Joliffe.
Because, in after years," answered her grandfather,
"lhe laid down the wisest head in England upon the
block, for the principles of liberty."
Will not your Excellency order out the guard ?"
whispered Lord Percy, who, with other British officers,
had now assembled round the general. "There may be
a plot under this mummery."
"Tush! we have nothing to fear," carelessly replied
Sir William Howe. There can be no worse treason in
the matter than a jest, and that somewhat of the dullest.
Even were it a sharp and bitter onl, our best policy
would be to laugh it off. See, here come more of these
Another group of characters had now partly descend-
ed the staircase. The first was a venerable and white-
bearded patriarch, who cautiously felt his way downward
with a staff. Treading hastily behind him, and stretch-
ing forth his ....ii. t .1 hand as if to grasp the old man's
shoulder, came a tall, soldier-like figure, equipped with
a plumed cap of steel, a bright breastplate, and a long
sword, which rattled against the stairs. Next was seen
a stout man, dressed in rich and courtly attire, but not
of courtly demeanor; his gait had the swinging motion
of a seaman's walk; and chancing to stumble on the
staircase, he suddenly grew wrathful, and was heard to
mutter an oath. He was followed by a noble-looking
personage in a curled wig, such as are represented in the
portraits of Queen Anne's time and earlier; and the


breast of his coat was decorated with an embroidered
star. While advancing to the door, he bowed to the
right hand and to the left, in a very gracious and insin-
nating style; but as lie crossed the threshold, unlike the
early Puritan governors, le seemed to wring his hands
with sorrow.
"Prithee, play the part of a chorus, good Dr. Byles,"
said Sir William Iowe. What worthies are these ? "
If it please your Excellency, they lived somewhat
before my day," answered the Doctor; "but doubtless
our friend, the Colonel, has been hand in glove with
Their living faces I never looked upon," said Colonel
Joliffc, gravely; although I have spoken face to face
with many rulers of this land, and shall greet yet another
with an old man's blessing, ere I die. But we talk of
these figures. I take the venerable patriarch to be Brad-
street, the last of the Puritans, who was governor at
ninety, or thereabouts. The next is Sir Edmund Andros,
a tyrant, as any New England school-boy will tell you;
and therefore the people cast him down from his high seat
into a dungeon. Then comes Sir William Phipps, shep-
herd, cooper, sea-captain, and governor: may many of
his countrymen rise as high, from as low an origin
Lastly, you saw the gracious Earl of Bellamont, who
ruled us under King William."
"But what is the meaning of it all?" asked Lord
"Now, were I a rebel," said Miss Joliffe, half aloud,
"I might fancy that the ghosts of these ancient govern-
ors had been summoned to form the funeral procession of
royal authority in New England."
Several other figures were now seen at the turn of the
staircase. The one in advance had a thoughtful, anxious,

and somewhat crafty expression of face; and in spite of
hii loftiness of manner, which was evidently the result
both of all ambitious spirit and of long continuance in
high stations, he seemed not incapable of cringing to a
greater than himself. A few steps behind came an officer
in a scarlet and embroidered uniform, cut in a fashion old
enough to have been worn by the Duke of Marlborough.
His nose had a rubicund tinge, which, together with the
twinkle of his eye, might have marked him as a lover of
the wine-cup and g.....i. II ... -I1l.; notwithstanding which
tokens, lie appeared ill at ease, and often glanced around
him, as if apprehensive of some secret mischief. Next
came a portly :... ..... .. wearing a coat of shaggy cloth,
lined with silken velvet; lie had sense, shrewdness, and
humor in his face, and a folio volume under his arm ; but
his aspect was that of a man vexed and tormented beyond
all patience and harassed almost to death. He went
hastily down, and was followed by a dignified person,
dressed in a purple velvet suit, with very rich embroidery;
his demeanor would have possessed much stateliness, only
that a grievous fit of the gout compelled him to hobble
from stair to stair, with contortions of face and body.
When Dr. Byles beheld this figure on the staircase, lie
shivered as with an ague, but continued to watch him
steadfastly, until the gouty --. mii ...... had reached the
threshold, made a gesture of anguish and despair, and
vanished into tile outer gloom, whither the funeral music
summoned him.
Governor Belcher my old patron in his very
shape and dress! gasped Dr. Byles. This is an awful
"A tedious foolery, rather," said Sir William Howe,
with an air of indifference. "But who were the three
that preceded him ? "



Governor Dudley, a cunning politician, -yet his
craft once brought him to a prison," replied Colonel
Joliffe; "Governor Shute, formerly a colonel under
Marlborough, and whom the people frightened out of the
province; and learned Governor Burnet, whom the Legis-
lature tormented into a mortal fever."
"Methinks they.were miserable men, these royal
governors of Massachusetts," observed Miss Jolilfe.
" Heavens, how dim the light grows "
It was certainly a fact that the large'lamp which illu-
minated the staircase now burned dim and duskily: so
that several figures, which passed hastily down tile stairs
and went forth from the porch, appeared rather like
shadows than persons of fleshly substance. Sir William
Howe and his guests stood at the doors of the contigu-
ous apartments, watching the progress of this singular
pageant, with various emotions of anger, contempt, or
half-acknowledged fear, but still with an anxious curios-
ity. The shapes, which now seemed hastening to join the
mysterious procession, were recognized rather by striking
peculiarities of dress, of broad characteristics of manner,
than by any perceptible resemblance of features to their
prototypes. Their faces, indeed, were invariably kept in
deep shadow. But Dr. Byles, and other gentlemen who
had long been familiar with the successive rulers of the
province, were heard to whisper the names of Shirley, of
Pownall, of Sir Francis Bernard, and of the well-remem-
bered Hutchinson; -i.. i.- confessing that the actors,
whoever they m;ght be, in this spectral march of govern-
ors, had succeeded in putting on some distant portraiture
of the real personages. As they vanished from the door,
still did these shadows toss their arms into the gloom
of night, with a dread expression of woe. Following
the mimic representative of Hutchinson came a military


figure, holding before his face the cocked hat which lie
had taken from his powdered head; but his epaulets and
other insignia of rank were those of a general officer;
and something in his mien reminded the beholders of one
who had recently been master of the Province House, and
chief of all the land.
"The shape of Gage, as true as in a looking-glass "
exclaimed Lord Percy, turning pale.
"No, surely," cried Miss Joliffe, laughing L"i *. ;-11l' ;
"it could not be Gage, or Sir William would have greeted
his old comrade in arms! Perhaps he will not suffer the
next to pass ,,,ii -, ii "
"Of that be assured, young lady," answered Sir Wil-
liam Howe, fixing his eyes, with a very marked expression,
upon the immovable visage of her .... il. ii.,. I have
long enough delayed to pay the ceremonies of a host to
these departing guests. The next that takes his leave
shall receive due courtesy."
A wild and dreary burst of music came through the
open door. It seemed as if the procession, which had
been :,-..' ii filling up its ranks, were now about to
move, and that this loud peal of the "wailing trumpets,
and roll of the muffled drums, were a call to some loiterer
to make haste. Many eyes, by an irresistible impulse,
were turned upon Sir William Howe, as if it were lie
whom the dreary music summoned to the funeral of de-
parted power.
See! here comes the last! whispered Miss Joliffe,
pointing her tremulous finger to the staircase.
A figure had come into view as if descending the
stairs; although so dusky was the region whence it
emerged, some of the spectators fancied that they had
seen this human shape suddenly moulding itself amid
tile gloom. Downward the figure came, with a stately


and martial tread, and reaching the lowest stair was ob-
served to be a tall man, booted and wrapped in a mili-
tary cloak, which was drawn up around the face so as
to meet the flapped brim of a laced hat. The features,
therefore, were completely hidden. But the British offi-
cers deemed that they had seen that military cloak be-
fore, and even recognized the frayed embroidery on the
collar, as well as the gilded scabbard of a sword which
protruded from the folds of the cloak, and glittered in
a vivid gleam of light. Apart from these trifling par-
ticulars, there were characteristics of gait and bearing
which impelled the wondering guests to glance from
the shrouded figure to Sir William Howe, as if to sat-
isfy themselves that their host had not suddenly vanished
from the midst of them.
With a dark flush of wrath upon his brow, they saw
the general draw his sword and advance to meet the
: !i inl the cloak before the latter had stepped one
pace upon the floor.
"Villain, unmuflle yourself!" cried he. "You pass
no farther !"
The figure, without blenching a hair's-breadth from
the sword which was pointed at his breast, made a
solemn pause and lowered the cape of the cloak from
about his face, yet not .nil .. ..lr l for tie spectators to
catch a glimpse of it. But Sir William Howe had evi-
dently seen enough. The sternness of his countenance
gave place to a look of wild amazement, if not horror,
while he recoiled several steps from the figure, and let
fall his sword upon the floor. The martial shape again
drew the cloak about his features and passed on; but
reaching the threshold, with his back towards the spec-
tators, lie was seen to stamp his foot and shake his
clinched hands in the air. It was afterwards affirmed


that Sir William Howe had repeated that self-same ges-
ture of rage and sorrow, when, for the last time, and
as the last royal governor, he passed i-in l.. the portal
of the Province House.
"Hark! the procession moves," said Miss Joliffe.
The music was dying away along the street, and its
dismal strains were mingled with the knell of midnight
from the steeple of the Old South, and with the roar of
artillery, which announced that the beleaguering army
of Washington had intrenched itself upon a nearer height
than before. As the deep boom of the cannon smote
upon his ear, Colonel Jolilre raised himself to the full
height of his aged form, and smiled sternly on the Brit-
ish general.
Would your Excellency inquire further into the mys-
tery of the pageant? said lie.
"Take care of your gray head!" cried Sir William
Howe, fiercely, though with a quivering lip. "It has
stood too long on a traitor's shoulders!"
"You must make haste to chop it off, then," calmly
replied the Colonel; "for a few hours longer, and not
all the power of Sir William Howe, nor of his master,
shall cause one of these gray hairs to fall. The empire
of Britain, in this ancient province, is at its last gasp
to-night; almost while I speak it is a dead corpse;
and methinks the shadows of the old governors are fit
mourners at its funeral! "
With these words Colonel Joliffe threw on his cloak,
and drawing his granddaughter's arm within his own,
retired from the last festival that a British ruler ever
held in the old province of Massachusetts Bay. It was
supposed that the Colonel and the young lady possessed
some secret iik.-ll u.. in regard to the mysterious
pageant of that night. However this might be, such


knowledge has never become general. The actors in
the scene have vanished into deeper obscurity than even
that wild Indian band who scattered the cargoes of the
tea-ships on the waves, and gained a place in history,
yet left no names. But superstition, among other legends
of this mansion, repeats the wondrous tale, that on the
anniversary night of Britain's discomfiture, the ghosts
of the ancient governors of Massachusetts still glide
through the portal of the Province House. And, last
of all, comes a figure shrouded in a military cloak, toss-
ing his clinched hands into the air, and stamping his
iron-shod boots upon the broad freestone steps with a
semblance of feverish despair, but without the sound of
a foot-tramp.

When the truth-telling accents of the elderly gentle-
man were hushed, I drew a long breath and looked
round the room, striving, with the best energy of my
imagination, to throw a tiuge of romance and historic
grandeur over the realities of the scene. But my nos-
trils snuffed up a scent of cigar-smoke, clouds of which
the narrator had emitted by way of visible emblem, I
suppose, of the nebulous obscurity of his tale. More-
over, my gorgeous fantasies were woefully disturbed by
the rattling of the spoon in a tumbler of whiskey punch,
which Mr. Thomas Waite was mingling for a customer.
Nor did it add to the picturesque appearance of the pan-
elled walls, that the slate of the Brookline stage was
suspended against them, instead of the armorial es-
cutcheon of some far-descended governor. A stage-
driver sat at one of the windows, reading a penny paper
of the day, the Boston Times, and presenting a fig-
ure which could nowise be brought into any picture of


"Times in Boston," seventy or a hundred years ago.
On the window-seat lay a bundle, neatly done up in
brown paper, the direction of which I had the idle curi-
osity to read. Miss SUSAN HUGGINS, at the PROVINCE
HOUSE." A pretty chambermaid, no doubt. In truth,
it is desperately hard work, when we attempt to throw
the spell of hoar antiquity over localities with which
the living world, and the day that is passing over us,
have aught to do. Yet, as I glanced at the stately stair-
case, down which the procession of the old governors
had descended, and as I emerged through the venerable
portal, whence their figures had preceded me, it glad-
dened me to be conscious of a thrill of awe. Then
diving through the narrow archway, a few strides trans-
ported me into the densest throng of Washington Street.

VOL. II. 2




TIE old legendary guest of the Province House
.lode in my remembrance from midsummer till
.1 nuary. One idle evening, last winter, confi-
dent that he would be found in the snuggest corner of lhe
bar-room, I resolved to pay him another visit, hoping to
deserve well of my country by snatching from oblivion
some else unheard-of fact of history. The night was
chill and raw, and rendered boisterous by almost a gale
of wind, which whistled along Washington Street, caus-
ing the gaslights to flare and flicker within the lamps.
As I hurried onward, my fancy was busy with a compar-
ison between the present aspect of the street, and that
which it probably wore when the British governors in-
habited the mansion whither I was now going. Brick
edifices in those times were few, till a succession of de-
structive fires had swept, and swept again, the wooden
.1.. 1i;,.. and warehouses from the most populous quar-
ters of the town. The buildings stood insulated and in-
dependent, not, as now, merging their separate existences
into connected ranges, with a front of tiresome identity,


but each possessing features of its own, as if the own-
er's individual taste had shaped it, and the whole pre-
senting a picturesque irregularity, the absence of which
is hardly compensated by any beauties of our modern
architecture. Such a scene, dimly vanishing from the
eye by the ray of here and there a tallow candle, glim-
mering through the small panes of scattered windows,
would form a sombre contrast to the street as I beheld
it, with the gaslights blazing from corner to corner, flam-
ing within the shops, and -i..... a noonday brightness
-i........, the huge plates of glass.
But the black, lowering sky, as I turned my eyes
upward, wore, doubtless, the same visage as when it
frowned upon the ante-Revolutionary New-Englauders.
The wintry blast had the same shriek that was familiar
to their ears. The Old South Church, too, still pointed
its antique spire into the darkness, and was lost between
earth and heaven; and as I passed, its clock, which had
warned so many generations how transitory was their
lifetime, spoke heavily and slow the same unregarded
moral to myself. Only seven o'clock," thought 1.
"My old friend's legends will scarcely kill the hours
twixtt this and bedtime."
Passing through the narrow arch, I crossed the court-
yard, the confined precincts of which were made visible
by a lantern over the portal of the Province House. On
entering the bar-room, I found, as I expected, the old
tradition-monger seated by a special good fire of anthra-
cite, compelling clouds of smoke from a corpulent cigar.
He recognized me with evident pleasure; for my rare
properties as a patient listener invariably make me a
favorite with elderly gentlemen and ladies of narrative
propensities. Drawing a chair to the fire, I desired
mine host to favor us with a glass apiece of whiskey


punch, which was speedily prepared, steaming hot, with
a slice of lemon at the bottom, a dark red stratum of
port wine upon the surface, and a sprinkling of nutmeg
strewn over all. As we touched our glasses together,
my legendary friend made himself known to me as Mr.
Bela T'ifr,, ; and I rejoiced at the oddity of the name,
because it gave his image and character a sort of individ-
uality in my conception. The old .. ,! ......' s draught
acted as a solvent upon his memory, so that it over-
flowed with tales, traditions, anecdotes of famous dead
people, and traits of ancient manners, some of which
were childish as a nurse's 1.,!ii. while others might
have been worth the notice of the grave historian.
Nothing impressed me more than a story of a black mys-
terious picture, which used to hang in one of the cham-
bers of the Province House, directly above the room
where we were now sitting. The following is as correct
a version of the fact as the reader would be likely to ob-
tain from any other source, although, assuredly, it has a
tinge of romance approaching to the marvellous.

In one of the apartments of the Province House there
was long preserved an ancient picture, the frame of
which was as black as ebony, and the canvas itself so
dark with age, damp, and smoke, that not a touch of the
painter's art could be discerned. Time had thrown an
impenetrable veil over it, and left to tradition and fable
and conjecture to say what had once been there por-
trayed. During the rule of many successive governors
it had hung, by prescriptive and undisputed right, over
the mantel-piece of the same chamber; and it still kept
its place when Licutenaint-Givernor Hutchinson assumed


the administration of the province, on the departure of
Sir Francis Bernard.
The Lieutenant-Governor sat, one afternoon, resting
his head against the carved back of his stately arm-chair,
and gazing up thoughtfully at the void blackness of the
picture. It was scarcely a time for such inactive musing,
when affairs of the deepest moment required the ruler's
decision; for, within that very hour, Hutchinson had re-
ceived intelligence of the arrival of a British fleet, bring-
ing three regiments from Halifax to overawe the in-
subordination of the people. These troops awaited his
permission to occupy the fortress of Castle William and
the town itself. Yet, instead of affixing his signature to
an official order, there sat the Lieutenant-Governor, so
carefully scrutinizing the black waste of canvas, that his
demeanor attracted the notice of two young persons who
attended him. One, wearing a military dress of buff,
was his kinsman, Francis Lincoln, the Provincial Cap-
tain of Castle William ; the other, who sat on a low stool
beside his chair, was Alice Vane, his favorite niece.
She was clad entirely in white, a pale, ethereal crea-
ture, who, though a native of New England, had been
educated abroad, and seemed not merely a stranger from
another clime, but almost a being from another world.
For several years, until left an orphan, she had dwelt
with her father in sunny Italy, and there had acquired a
taste and enthusiasm for sculpture and painting, which
she found few opportunities of gratifying in the undeco-
rated dwellings of the colonial gentry. It was said that
the early productions of her own pencil exhibited no
inferior genius, though, perhaps, the rude atmosphere of
New England had cramped her hand, and dimmed the
glowing colors of her fancy. But observing her uncle's
steadfast gaze, which appeared to search through the mist


of years to discover the subject of the picture, her curi-
osity was excited.
"Is it known, my dear uncle," inquired she, what
this old picture once represented ? Possibly, could it
be made visible, it might prove a masterpiece of some
great artist; else, why has it so long held such a con-
spicuous place ?"
As her uncle, contrary to his usual custom (for he
was as attentive to all the humors and caprices of
Alice as if she had been his own best-beloved child),
did not immediately reply, the young captain of Castle
William took that office upon himself.
"This dark old square of canvas, my fair cousin,"
said he, has been an heirloom in the Province House
from time immemorial. As to the painter, I can tell you
nothing; but if half the stories told of it be true, not
one of the great Italian masters has ever produced so
marvellous a piece of work as that before you."
Captain Lincoln proceeded to relate some of the
strange fables and fantasies, which, as it was impossible
to refute them by ocular demonstration, had grown to
be articles of popular belief, in reference to this old
picture. One of the wildest, and at the same time the
best accredited accounts, stated it to be an original and
authentic portrait of the Evil One, taken at a witch
meeting near Salem; and that its strong and terrible
resemblance has been confirmed by several of the con-
fessing wizards and witches, at their trial, in open court.
It was likewise affirmed that a familiar spirit, or demon,
abode behind the blackness of the picture, and had shown
himself, at seasons of public calamity, to more than one
of the royal governors. Shirley, for instance, had be-
held this ominous apparition, on the eve of General
Abercrombie's shameful and bloody defeat under the


walls of Ticonderoga. Many of the servants of the
Province House had caught glimpses of a visage frown-
ing down upon them, at morning or evening twilight,
or in the depths of night, while raking up the fire that
glimmered on the hearth beneath ; although, if any were
bold enough to hold a torch before the picture, it would
appear as black and indistinguishable as ever. The old-
est inhabitant of Boston recollected that his father, in
whose days the portrait had not wholly faded out of
sight, had once looked upon it, but would never suffer
himself to be questioned as to the face which was there
represented. In connection with such stories, it was
remarkable that over the top of the frame there were
some ragged remnants of black silk, indicating that a
veil had formerly hung down before the picture, until
the duskiness of time had so effectually concealed it.
But, after all, it was the most singular part of the affair,
that so many of the pompous governors of Massachu-
setts had allowed the obliterated picture to remain in
the state chamber of the Province House.
"Some of these fables are really awful," observed
Alice Vane, who had occasionally shuddered, as well as
smiled, while her cousin spoke. "It would be almost
worth while to wipe away the black surface of the
canvas, since the original picture can hardly be so for-
midable as those which fancy paints instead of it."
But would it be possible," inquired her cousin, "to
restore this dark picture to its pristine hues ? "
Such arts are known in Italy," said Alice.
The Lieutenant-Governor had roused himself from
his abstracted mood, and listened with a smile to the
conversation of his young relatives. Yet his voice had
-..i... ii;.c" peculiar in its tones, when he undertook tihe
explanation of the mystery.


"I am sorry, Alice, to destroy your faith in the
legends of which you are so fond," remarked lie; but
my antiquarian researches have long since made me
acquainted with the subject of this picture, -if picture
it can be called, which is no more visible, nor ever
will be, than the face of the long-buried man whom it
once represented. It was the portrait of Edward Ran-
dolph, the founder of this house, a person famous in
the history of New England."
Of that Edward Randolph," exclaimed Captain Lin-
coln, "who obtained the repeal of the first provincial
charter, under which our forefathers had enjoyed almost
democratic privileges! He that was styled the arch-
enemy of New England, and whose memory is still held
in detestation, as the destroyer of our liberties! "
"It was the same Randolph," answered Hutchinson,
moving uneasily in his chair. "It was his lot to taste
the bitterness of popular odium."
Our annals tell us," continued the Captain of Cas-
tle William, "that the curse of the people followed this
Randolph where he went, and wrought evil in all the
subsequent events of his life, and that its effect was
seen likewise in the manner of his death. They say,
too, that the inward misery of that curse worked itself
outward, and was visible on the wretched man's coun-
tenance, making it too horrible to be looked upon. If
so, and if this picture truly represented his aspect, it
was in mercy that the cloud of blackness has gathered
over it."
"These traditions are folly, to one who lhas proved,
as I have, how little of historic truth lies at the bottom,"
said the Lieutenant-Governor. As regards the life and
character of Edward Randolph, too implicit credence has
been given to Dr. Cotton Mather, who I must say it,


though some of his blood runs in my veins -has filled
our early history with old women's tales, as fanciful and
extravagant as those of Greece or Rome."
"And yet," whispered Alice Vane, "nmay not such
fables have a moral ? And, methinks, if the visage
of this portrait be so dreadful, it is not without a
cause that it has hung so long in a chamber of the
Province House. When the rulers feel themselves irre-
sponsible, it were well that they should be reminded of
the awful weight of a people's curse."
The Lieutenant-Governor started, and gazed for a mo-
ment at his niece, as if her girlish fantasies had struck
upon some feeling in his own breast, which all his pol-
icy or principles could not entirely subdue. He knew,
indeed, that Alice, in spite of her foreign education,
retained the native sympathies of a New England girl.
Peace, silly child," cried he, at last, more harshly
than lie had ever before addressed the gentle Alece.
"The rebuke of a king is more to be dreaded than the
clamor of a wild, misguided multitude. Captain Lincoln,
it is decided. The fortress of Castle William must be
occupied by the Royal troops. The two remaining regi-
ments shall be billeted in the town, or encamped upon
the Common. It is time, after years of tumult, and
almost rebellion, that his Majesty's government should
have a wall of strength about it."
"Trust, sir, trust yet awhile to the loyalty of the
people," said' Captain Lincoln; nor teach them that
they can ever be on other terms with British soldiers
than those of brotherhood, as when they fought side by
side through the French war. Do not convert the streets
of your native town into a camp. Timnk twice before you
give up old Castle William, the key of tile province, into
other keeping than that of true-born New-Englanders."
2* c


"Young man, it is decided," repeated Hutchinson,
rising from his chair. "A British officer will be in
attendance this evening to receive the necessary inslruc-
tions for the disposal of the troops. Your presence also
will be required. Till then, farewell."
With these words the Lieutenant-Governor hastily left
the room, while Alice and her cousin more slowly fol-
lowed, whispering together, and once pausing to glance
back at the mysterious picture. The Captain of Castle
William fancied that the girl's air and mien were such as
might have belonged to one of those spirits of fable -
fairies, or creatures of a more antique n, 11..1... who
sometimes mingled their agency with mortal affairs, half
in caprice, yet with a sensibility to human weal or woe.
As he held the door for her to pass, Alice beckoned to
the picture and smiled.
"Come forth, dark and evil Shape! cried she. "It
is thine hour "
In the evening, Lieutenant-Governor IItchinson sat
in the same chamber where the foregoing scene had
occurred, surrounded by several persons whose various
interests had summoned them together. There were the
Selectmen of Boston, plain, patriarchal fathers of the
people, excellent representatives of tile old puritanical
founders, whose sombre strength had stamped so deep
an impress upon the New England character. Contrast-
ing with these were one or two members of Council,
richly dressed in tie white wigs, the embroidered waist-
coats, and other : .' ....F; .... of the time, and making a
somewhat ostentatious display of courtier-like ceremonial.
In attendance, likewise, was a major of the British army,
awaiting the Lieutenant-Governor's orders for tlhe land-
ing of tile troops, which still remained on board the
transports. The Captain of Castle William stood beside


Hutchinson's chair, with folded arms, glancing rather
haughtily at the British officer, by whom lie was soon to
b superseded in his command. On a table, in the cen-
tre of the chamber, stood a branched silver candlestick,
throwing down the glow of half a dozen wax-lghts upon
a paper '.pp r il ready for the Licutenant-Governor's
Partly shrouded in the voluminous folds of one of the
window-curtains, which fell from the ceiling to the floor,
was seen the white drapery of a lady's robe. It may
appear strange that Alice Vane should have been there,
at such a time; but there was something so childlike, so
wayward, in her singular character, so apart from ordi-
inry rules, that her presence did not surprise the few who
noticed it. Meantime, the chairman of the Selectmen
was addressing to the Lieutenant-Governor a long and
solemn protest against the reception of the British troops
into thie town.
"And if your Honor," concluded this excellent but
somewhat prosy old gentleman, shall see fit to persist
in bringing these mercenary sworders and musketeers
into our quiet streets, not on our heads be the responsi-
bility. Think, sir, while there is yet time, that if one
drop of blood be shed, that blood shall be an eternal
stain upon your Honor's memory. You, sir, have writ-
ten, with an able pen, the deeds of our forefathers. The
more to be desired is it, therefore, that yourself should
deserve honorable mention, as a true patriot and upright
ruler, when your own doings shall be written down in
"I am not insensible, my good sir, to the natural de-
sire to stand well in the annals of my country," replied
Hutchinson, controlling his impatience into courtesy,
"nor know I any better method of attaining that end


than by withstanding the merely temporary spirit of
mischief, which, with your pardon, seems to have infected
elder men than myself. Would you have me wait till
the mob shall sack the Province House, as -i. did my
private mansion ? Trust me, sir, the time may come
when you will be glad to flee for protection to the King's
banner, the raising of which is now so distasteful to you."
"Yes," said the British major, who was impatiently
expecting the Lieutenant-Governor's orders. The dem-
agogues of this province have raised the devil, and cannot
lay him again. We will exorcise him, in God's name
and the King's."
"If you meddle with the Devil, take care of his claws!"
answered the Captain of Castle William, stirred by the
taunt against his countrymen.
"Craving your pardon, young sir," said the venerable
Selectman, let not an evil spirit enter into your words.
We will strive against the oppressor with prayer and
fasting, as our forefathers would have done. Like them,
moreover, we will submit to whatever lot a wise Provi-
dence may send us, -always, after our own best exer-
tions to amend it."
"And there peep forth the Devil's claws muttered
Hutchinson, who well understood the nature of Puritan
submission. This matter shall be expedited forthwith.
When there shall be a sentinel at every corner, and a
court of guard before the town-house, a loyal gentleman
may venture to walk abroad. What to me is the outcry
of a mob, in this remote province of the realm ? The
King is my master, and England is my country! Upheld
by their armed strength, I set my foot upon the rabble,
and defy them! "
Hie snatched a pen, and was about to affix his signature
to the paper that lay on the table, when the Captain of


Castle William placed his hand upon his shoulder. The
freedom of the action, so contrary to the ceremonious
respect which was then considered due to rank and dig-
nity, awakened general surprise, and in none more than
in the Lieutenant-Governor himself. Looking angrily
up, he perceived that his young relative was pointing his
finger to the opposite wall. Hutchinson's eye followed
the signal; and lie saw, what had hitherto been unob-
served, that a black silk curtain was suspended before
the mysterious picture, so as completely to conceal it.
His thoughts immediately recurred to the scene of the pre-
ceding afternoon; and, in his surprise, confused by indis-
tinct emotions, yet sensible that his niece must have had
an agency in this phenomenon, lie called loudly upon her.
Alice come hither, Alice "
No sooner had he spoken than Alice Vane glided from
her station, and pressing one hand across her eyes, with
the other snatched away the sable curtain that concealed
the portrait. An exclamation of surprise burst from
every beholder; but the Lieutenant-Governor's voice had
a tone of horror.
"By Heaven," said lie, in a low, inward murmur,
speaking rather to himself than to those around him, "if
the spirit of Edward Randolph were to appear among us
from the place of torment, lie could not wear more of the
terrors of hell upon his face "
"For some wise end," said the aged Selectman, sol-
emnly, hath Providence scattered away the mist of years
that had so long hid this dreadful effigy. Until this hour
no living man hath seen what we behold! "
Within the antique frame, which so recently had en-
closed a sable waste of canvas, now appeared a visible
picture, still dark, indeed, in its hues and shadings, but
thrown forward in strong relief. It was a half-length


figure of a gentleman in a rich, but very old-fashioned
dress of embroidered velvet, with a broad ruff and a
beard, and wearing a hat, the brim of which over.
shadowed his forehead. Beneath this cloud the eyes had
a peculiar glare which was almost life-like. The whole
portrait started so distinctly out of the background, that
it had the effect of a person looking down from the wall
at the astonished and awe-stricken spectators. The ex-
pression of the face, if any words can convey an idea of it,
was that of. a wretch detected in some hideous guilt, and
exposed to the bitter hatred and laughter and withering
scorn of a vast surrounding multitude. There was the
struggle of defiance, beaten down and overwhelmed by
the crushing weight of ignominy. The torture of the
soul had come forth upon the countenance. It seemed
as if the picture, while hidden behind the cloud of inlne-
morial years, had been all the time acquiring an intense
depth and darkness of expression, till now it gloomed
forth again, and threw its evil omen over the present
hour. Such, if the wild legend may be credited, was the
portrait of Edward Randolph, as lie appeared when a
people's curse had wrought its influence upon his nature.
'T would drive me mad, that awful face said
Hutchinson, who seemed fascinated by the contemplation
of it.
Be warned, then whispered Alice. Ie trampled
on a people's rights. Behold his punishment, and avoid
a crime like his "
The Lieutenant-Governor actually trembled for an in-
stant; but, exerting his energy, which was not, how-
ever, his most characteristic feature, he strove to shake
off the spell of Randolph's countenance.
"Girl!" cried lie, laughing bitterly, as lie turned to
Alice, "have you brought hither your painter's art,-


your Italian spirit of intrigue, -your tricks of stage effect,
-and think to influence tile councils of rulers and the
affairs of nations by such shallow contrivances ? See
here "
Stay yet awhile," said the Selectman, as Hutchinson
again snatched the pen; "for if ever mortal man re-
ceived a warning front a tormented soul, your Honor is
that man! "
"Away!" answered IIutchinson, fiercely. "Though
yonder senseless picture cried, 'Forbear! it should not
move me! "
Casting a scowl of defiance at the pictured face (which
seemed, at that moment, to intensify the horror of its
miserable and wicked look), lie scrawled on the paper,
in characters that betokened it a deed of desperation,
the name of Thomas Hutchinson. Then, it is said, lie
shuddered, as if that signature had granted away his sal-
"It is done," said lie; and placed his hand upon his
"May Heaven forgive the deed," said the soft, sad ac-
cents of Alice Vane, like the voice of a good spirit flitting
When morning came there was a stifled whisper
:i,.... the household, and spreading thence about the
town, that the dark, mysterious picture had started from
the wall, and spoken face to face with Lieutenant-Gov-
ernor Iutchinson. If such a miracle had been wrought,
however, no traces of it remained behind; for within the
antique frame, nothing' could be discerned, save the im-
penetrable cloud which had covered the canvas since the
memory of man. If the figure had, indeed, stepped forth,
it had fled back, spirit-like, at the daydawn, and hidden
itself behind a century's obscurity. The truth probably


was, that Alice Vane's secret for restoring the hues of
the picture had merely effected a temporary renovation.
But those who, in that brief interval, had beheld the aw-
ful visage of Edward Randolph, desired no second glance,
and ever afterwards trembled at the recollection of the
scene, as if an evil spirit bad appeared visibly among
them. And as for Hutcliiuson, when, far over the ocean,
his dying hour drew on, he gasped for brealh, and com-
plained that lie was choking with the blood of the Boston
massacre; and Francis Lincoln, the former Captain of
Castle William, who was standing at his bedside, per-
ceived a likeness in his frenzied look to that of Edward
Randolph. Did his broken spirit feel, at that dread hour,
the tremendous burden of a People's curse ?

At the conclusion of this miraculous legend, I inquired
of mine host whether the picture still remained in the
chamber over our heads; but MIr. T;;f.i, informed me
that it had long since been removed, and was supposed
to be hidden in some out-of-the-way corner of the New
England Museum. Perchance some curious antiquary
may light upon it there, and, with the assistance of Mr.
Hloworth, the picture-cleaner, may supply a not unneces-
sary proof of the authenticity of the facts here set down.
During the progress of the story a storm had been ,i,.
ering abroad, and raging and ,i ,1-. so loudly in the
upper regions of the Province House, that it seemed as
if all the old governors and great men were running riot
above stairs, while Mr. Bela Tiffany babbled of them
below. In the course of generations, when many people
have lived and died in an ancient house, the whistling of
the wind through its crannies, and the creaking of its


beams and rafters, become strangely like the tones of the
human voice, or thundering laughter, or heavy footsteps
treading the deserted chambers. It is as if the echoes
of half a century were revived. Such were the ghostly
sounds that roared and murmured in our ears, when I
look leave of the circle round the fireside of I lhe Province
House, and plunging down the doorsteps, fought my
way homeward against a drifting snow-storm.




I iNE excellent friend, the landlord of the Province
Spouse, was pleased, the other evening, to invite
LMr. Tiffany and myself to an oyster-supper.
This slight mark of respect and gratitude, as he hand-
somely observed, was far less than the ingenious lale-
teller, and I, the humble note-taker of his narratives, had
fairly earned, by the public notice which our joint lucu-
brations had attracted to his establishment. Many a
cigar had been smoked within his premises, many a
glass of wine, or more potent aqua vitr, had been quaffed,
- many a dinner had been eaten by curious strangers,
who, save for the fortunate conjunction of Mr. Tiffany
and me, would never have ventured through that dark-
some avenue, which gives access to the historic precincts
of the Province House. In short, if any credit be due
to the courteous assurances of Mr. Thomas Waite, we
had brought his forgotten mansion almost as effectually
into public view as if we had thrown down the vulgar
range of shoe-shops and dry-goods stores, which hides its
aristocratic front from Washington Street. It may be


unadvisable, however, to speak too loudly of the in-
creased custom of the house, lest Mr. Waite should find
it difficult to renew the lease on so favorable terms as
Being thus welcomed as benefactors, neither Mr. Tiffany
nor myself f. i ...I scruple in doing full justice to the good
things that were set before us. If the feast were less
nI, ig.I ..1i. than those same panelled walls had witnessed
in a bygone century, if mine host presided with some-
what less of state, than might have befitted a successor of
the royal governors, if the guests madi a less imposing
show than the hewigged and powdered and embroidered
dignitaries, who erst banqueted at the gubernatorial table,
and now sleep within their armorial tombs on Copp's
Hill or round King's Chapel, yet never, I may boldly
say, did a more comfortable little party assemble in the
Province House, from Queen Anne's days to the Revo-
lution. The occasion was rendered more interesting by
the presence of a venerable personage, whose own actual
reminiscences went back to the epoch of Gage and Howe,
and even supplied him with a doubtful anecdote or two
of Hutchinson. He was one of that small, and now all
but extinguished class, whose attachment to royalty, and
to the colonial institutions and customs that were con-
nected with it, had never yielded to the democratic here-
sies of after times. The young queen of Britain has not
a more loyal subject in her realm perhaps not one who
would kneel before her throne with such reverential love
--than this old grandsire, whose head has whitened be-
neath the mild sway of the Republic, which still, in his mel-
lower moments, he terms a usurpation. Yet prejudices
so obstinate have not made him an ungentle or impracti-
cable companion. If the truth must be told, the life of
the aged loyalist has been of such a scrambling and un-


settled character, lie has had so little choice of friends,
and been so often destitute of any, that I doubt whether
he would refuse a cup of kindness with either Oliver
Cromwell or John Hancock ; to say nothing of any demo-
crat now upon the stage. In another paper of this series,
I may perhaps give the reader a closer glimpse of his
Our host, in due season, uncorked a bottle of Madeira,
of such exquisite perfume and admirable flavor, that he
surely must have discovered it in an ancient bin, down
deep beneath the deepest cellar, where some jolly old
butler stored away the Governor's choicest wine, and
forgot to reveal the secret on his death-bed. Peace to
his red-nosed ghost, and a libation to his memory This
precious liquor was imbibed by Mr. T;UiiT with peculiar
zest; and after sipping the third glass, it was his pleasure
to give us one of the oddest legends which he had yet
raked from the storehouse where lie keeps such matters.
With some suitable adornments from my own fancy, it
ran pretty much as follows.

Not long after Colonel Shute had assumed the govern-
ment of Massachusetts Bay, now nearly a hundred and
twenty years ago, a young lady of rank and fortune ar-
rived from England, to claim his protection as her guar-
dihl. He was her distant relative, but the nearest who
had survived the gradual extinction of her family; so
that no more eligible shelter could be found for the rich
and high-born Lady Eleanore Roclicliffe, than within the
Province House of a Transatlantic colony. The consort
of Governor Shute, moreover, had been as a mother to
her childhood, and was now anxious to receive her, in the


hope that a beautiful young woman would be exposed to
infinitely less peril from the primitive society of New
England, than amid the artifices and corruptions of a
court. If either the Governor or his lady had e.,p"ej ily1
consulted their own comfort, they would probably have
sought to devolve the responsibility on other hands;
since with some noble and splendid traits of character,
Lady Eleanore was remarkable for a harsh, unyielding
pride, a haughty consciousness of her hereditary and
personal advantages, which made her almost incapable of
control. Judging from many traditionary anecdotes, this
peculiar temper was .11] less than a monomania ; or,
if the acts which it inspired were those of a sane person,
it seemed due from Providence that pride so sinful should
be followed by as severe a retriut ion. That tinge of the
marvellous, which is thrown over so many of these half-
forgotten legends, has probably imparted an additional
wildness to the strange story of Lady Eleanore Roch-
The ship in which she came passenger had arrived at
Newport, whence Lady Eleanore was conveyed to Boston
in the Governor's coach, attended by a small escort of
gentlemen on horseback. The ponderous equipage, with
its four black horses, attracted much notice as it rumbled
through Cornhill, surrounded by the prancing steeds of
half a dozen cavaliers, with swords dangling to their stir-
rups and pistols at their holsters. Through the large
glass windows of the coach, as it rolled along, the people
could discern the figure of Lady Eleanore, strangely com-
bining an almost queenly stateliness with the grace and
beauty of a maiden in her teens. A singular tale had
gone abroad among the ladies of the province, that their
fair rival was indebted for much of the irresistible charm
of her appearance to a certain article of dress, -an cm-


broidered mantle, wlich had been wrought by the most
skilful artist in London, and possessed even magical prop-
erties of adornment. On tle present occasion, however,
she owed nothing to the witchery of dress, being clad in
a riding-habit of velvet, which would have appeared stiff
and ungraceful on any other form.
The coachman reined in his four black steeds, and the
whole cavalcade came to a pause in front of the contorted
iron balustrade that fenced the Province House from the
public street. It was an awkward coincidence, that the
bell of the Old South was just then tolling for a funeral;
so that, instead of a gladsome peal witli which it was
customary to announce the arrival of distinguished
strangers, Lady Eleanore Rocheliffe was ushered by a
doleful clang, as if calamity had come embodied in her
beautiful person.
A very great disrespect exclaimed Captain Lang-
ford, an English officer, who had recently brought de-
spatches to Governor Shute. "The funeral should have
been deferred, lest Lady Eleanore's spirits be affected by
such a dismal welcome."
"With your pardon, sir," replied Dr. Clarke, a physi-
cian, and a famous champion of the popular party,
" whatever the heralds may pretend, a dead beggar must
have precedence of a living queen. King Death confers
high privileges."
These remarks were interchanged while the speakers
waited a passage through the crowd, which had gathered
on each side of the gateway, leaving an open avenue to
the portal of the Province House. A black slave in liv-
ery now leaped from behind the coach, and threw open
the door; while at the same moment Governor Shute
descended the flight of steps from his mansion, to assist
Lady Eleanore in alighting. But the Governor's stately


approach was anticipated in a manner that excited gen-
eral astonishment. A pale young man, with his black
hair all in disorder, rushed from the throng, and pros-
trated himself beside the coach, thus .ii ....- his person
as a footstool for Lady Eleanore Rocheliffe to tread
upon. She held back an instant ; yet with an expres-
sion as if doubting whether the young man were worthy
to bear the weight of her footstep, rather than dissatis-
fied to receive such awful reverence from a fellow-
"Up, sir," said the Governor, sternly, at the same
time lifting his cane over the intruder. "What means
the Bedlamite by this freak ? "
Nay," answered Lady Eleanore, playfully, but with
more scorn than pity in her tone, your Excellency shall
not strike him. When men seek only to be trampled
upon, it were a pity to deny them a favor so easily
granted and so well deserved "
Then, though as lightly as a sunbeam on a cloud, she
placed her foot upon -I ... ... ;,, _: form, and extended her
hand to meet that of the Governor. There was a brief
interval, during which Lady Eleanore retained this atti-
tude ; and never, surely, was there an apter emblem of
aristocracy and hereditary pride trampling on human
"piS'" ill and the kindred of nature, than these two
figures presented at that moment. Yet the spectators
were so smitten with her beauty, and so essential did
pride seem to the existence of such a creature, that they
gave a simultaneous acclamation of applause.
"Who is this insolent young fellow ? inquired Cap-
tain Langford, who still remained beside Dr. Clarke.
"If he be in his senses, his impertinence demands the
bastinado. If mad, Lady Eleanore should be secured
from further inconvenience, by his confinement."


"His name is Jervase Helwyse," answered the Doc-
tor; "a youth of no birth or fortune, or other advan-
tages, save the mind and soul that nature gave him;
and being secretary to our colonial agent in London, it
was his misfortune to meet this Lady Eleanore Roch-
clilfe. He loved her, and her scorn has driven him
He was mad so to aspire," observed the English
It may be so," s:id Dr. Clarke, frowning as lie
spoke. "But I tell you, s.r, I could -. 1 -.... doubt the
justice of the Heaven above us, if no signal humiliation
overtake this lady, who now treads so haughtily into
yonder mansion. She seeks to place herself above the
sympathies of our common nature, which envelops all
human souls. See, if that nature do not assert its claim
over her in some mode that shall bring her level with
the lowest! "
"Never! cried Captain Langford, indignantly; "nci-
ther in life, nor when they lay her with her ances-
Not many days afterwards the Governor gave a ball
in honor of Lady Eleanore Rocheliffe. The principal
gentry of the colony received invitations, which were
distributed to their residences, far and near, by messen-
gers on horseback, bearing missives sealed with all tie
formality of official despatches. In obedience to the
summons, there was a general ,1, ,i ..: of rank, wealth,
and beauty; and the wide door of the Province House
had seldom given admittance to more numerous and
honorable guests than on the evening of Lady Eleanore's
ball. Without much extravagance of eulogy, the spectacle
might even be termed splendid; for, according to the
fashion of the times, the ladies shone in rich ..II. and


satins, outspread over wide-projecting hoops; and the
g L li ... glittered in gold embroidery, laid unsparingly
upon the purple, or scarlet, or sky-blue velvet, which
was the material of their coats and waistcoats. The lat-
ter article of dress was of great importance, since it en-
veloped the wearer's body nearly to the knees, and was
perhaps bedizened with the amount of his whole year's
income, in golden flowers and foliage. The altered taste
of the present day a taste symbolic of a deep change
in the whole system of society would look upon almost
any of those gorgeous figures as ridiculous ; although that
evening the guests sought their reflections in the pier-
glasses, and rejoiced to catch their own glitter amid the
glittering crowd. What a pity that one of the stately
mirrors has not preserved a picture of the scene, which,
by the very traits that were so transitory, might have
taught us much that would be worth knowing and re-
membering !
Would, at least, that either painter or mirror could
convey to us some faint idea of a garment, already no-
ticed in this legend, the Lady Elcanore's embroidered
mantle, which the gossips whispered was invested with
magic properties, so as to lend a new and untried grace
to her figure each time that she put it on! Idle fancy as
it is, this mysterious mantle has thrown an awe around
my image of her, partly from its fabled virtues, and
partly because it was the handiwork of a dying woman,
and, perchance, owed the fantastic grace of its concep-
tion to the delirium of approaching death.
After the ceremonial greetings had been paid, Lady
Eleanore Rocheliffe stood apart from the mob of guests,
insulating herself within a small and distinguished circle,
to whom she accorded a more cordial favor than to the
general throng. The waxen torches threw their radiance
VOL. I1. 3 D


vividly over the scene, bringing out its brilliant points in
strong relief; but she gazed carelessly, and with now
and then an expression of weariness or scorn, tempered
with such feminine grace, that her auditors scarcely per-
ceived the moral deformity of which it was the utterance.
She beheld the spectacle not with vulgar ridicule, as dis-
daining to be pleased with the provincial mockery of a
court festival, but with the deeper scorn of one whose
spirit held itself too high to participate in the enjoyment
of other human souls. ti I, .. or no the recollections
of those who saw her that evening were influenced by
the strange events with which she was -.1 ..! ....i con-
nected, so it was that her figure ever after recurred to
them as marked by something wild and unnatural; al-
1i.....i,. at the time, the general whisper was of her ex-
ceeding beauty, and of the indescribable charm which
her mantle threw around her. Some close observers, in-
deed, detected a feverish flush and alternate paleness of
countenance, with a corresponding flow and revulsion of
spirits, and once or twice a painful and helpless betrayal
of lassitude, as if she were on the point of sinking to the
ground. Then, with a nervous shudder, she seemed to
arouse her energies, and threw some bright and playful,
yet half-wicked sarcasm into the conversation. There
was so strange a characteristic in her manners and sen-
timents, that it astonished every right-minded listener;
till looking in her face, a lurking and incomprehensible
glance and smile perplexed them with doubts both as to
ler seriousness and sanity. Gradually, Lady Eleanore
Rochcliffe's circle grew smaller, till only four gentlemen
remained in it. These were Captain Langford, the Eng-
lish officer before mentioned; a Virginian planter, who
had come to M\assachusetts on some political errand; a
young Episcopal clergyman, the grandson of a British



Earl; and lastly, the private secretary of Governor
Shute, whose obsequiousness had won a sort of toler-
ance from Lady Eleanorc.
At different periods of the evening the liveried ser-
vants of the Province House passed among the guests,
bearing huge trays of refreshments, and French and
Spanish wiues. Lady Eleanore Rocheliffe, who refused
to wet her beautiful lips even with a bubble of cham-
pagne, had sunk back into a large damask chair, appar-
ently overwearied either with the excitement of the
scene or its tedium; and while, for an instant, she was
unconscious of voices, laughter, and music, a young man
stole forward, and knelt down at her feet. He bore a
salver in his hand, on which was a chased silver goblet,
filled to the brim with wine, which he offered as rev-
erentially as to a crowned queen, or rather with the
awful devotion of a priest doing sacrifice to his idol.
Conscious that some one touched her robe, Lady
Eleanore started, and unclosed her eyes upon the
pale, wild features and dishevelled hair of Jervase Hel-
"Why do you haunt me thus ? said she, in a languid
tone, but with a kindlier feeling than she ordinarily per-
mitted herself to express. They tell me that I have
done you harm."
Heaven knows if that be so," replied the young man,
solemnly. "But, Lady Eleanore, in requital of that
harm, if such there be, and for your own ,iil, and
heavenly welfare, I pray you to take one sip of this holy
wine, and then to pass the goblet round among the
guests. And this shall be a symbol that you have not
sought to withdraw yourself from the chain of human
sympathies, which whoso would shake off must keep
company with fallen angels."


Where has this mad fellow stolen that sacramental
vessel ? exclaimed the Episcopal clergyman.
This question drew the notice of the guests to the
silver cup, which was recognized as appertaining to the
communion plate of the Old South Church; and for
aught that could be known, it was brimming over with
the consecrated wine.
"Perhaps it is poisoned," half whispered the Govern-
or's secretary.
"Pour it down the villain's throat!" cried the Vir-
ginian, fiercely.
Turn him out of the house!" cried Captain Laug-
ford, seizing Jervase Helwyse so roughly by the shoulder
that the sacramental cup was overturned, and its con-
tents sprinkled upon Lady Eleanore's mantle. "Wheth-
er knave, fool, or Bedlamite, it is intolerable that the
fellow should go at large."
"Pray, gentlemen, do my poor admirer no harm," said
Lady Eleanore, with a faint and weary smile. "Take
him out of my sight, if such he your pleasure; for I
can find in my heart to do ...il.i, but laugh at him;
whereas, in all decency and conscience, it would become
me to weep for the mischief I have wrought! "
But while the by-standers were attempting to lead
away the unfortunate young man, he broke from them,
and with a wild, impassioned earnestness, offered a new
and equally strange petition to Lady Eleanore. It was
no other than that she should throw off the mantle,
which, while lie pressed the silver cup of wine upon
her, she had drawn more closely around her form, so
as almost to shroud herself within it.
Cast it from you exclaimed Jervase Helwyse, clasp-
ing his hands in an agony of entreaty. "It may not yet
be too late Give the accursed garment to the flames! "



But Lady Eleanore, with a laugh of scorn, drew the
rich folds of the embroidered mantle over her head, in
such a fashion as to give a completely new aspect to
her beautiful face, which- half hidden, half revealed-
seemed to belong to some being of mysterious character
and purposes.
Farewell, Jcrvase Helwyse said she. "Keep my
image in your remembrance, as you behold it now."
"Alas, lady lie replied, in a tone no longer
wild, but sad as a funeral bell. We must meet
shortly, when your face may wear another aspect;
and that shall be the image that must abide within
He made no more resistance to the violent efforts of
the gentlemen and servants, who almost dragged him
out of the apartment, and dismissed him roughly from
the iron gate of the Province House. Captain Langford,
who had been very active in this affair, was returning
to the presence of Lady Eleanore Rochcliffe, when lie
encountered the physician, Dr. Clarke, with whom lie
had held some casual talk on the day of her arrival.
The Doctor stood apart, separated from Lady Eleanore
by the width of the room, but eying her with such keen
sagacity, that Captain Langford involuntarily gave him
credit for the discovery of some deep secret.
You appear to be smitten, after all, with the charms
of this queenly maiden," said lie, hoping thus to draw
forth the physician's hidden knowledge.
"God forbid!" answered Dr. Clarke, with a grave
smile; "and if you be wise, you will put up the same
prayer for yourself. Woe to those who shall be smitten
by this beautiful Lady Eleanore! But yonder stands
the Governor, and I have a word or two for his pri-
vate ear. Good night "


He accordingly advanced to Governor Shute, and ad-
dressed him in so low a tone that none of the by-standers
could catch a word of what he said; although the sud-
denl change of his T ,.11. .. 's hitherto cheerful visage
betokened that the communication could he of no agree-
able import. A very few moments afterwards, it was
announced to the guests that an unforeseen circumstance
rendered it necessary to put a premature close to the
The ball at the Province House supplied a topic of
conversation for the colonial metropolis, for some days
after its occurrence, and might still longer have been
the general theme, only that a subject of all-engrossing
interest thrust it, for a time, from the public recollec-
tion. This was the appearance of a dreadful epidemic,
which, in that age, and long before and afterwards, was
wont to slay its hundreds and thousands, on both sides
of the Atlantic. On the occasion of which we speak, it
was distinguished by a peculiar virulence, insomu'ch that
it has left its traces-its pit-marks, to use an appro-
priate figure on the history of the country, the affairs
of which were thrown into confusion by its ravages. At
first, unlike its ordinary course, the disease seemed to
conine itself to the higher circles of society, selecting
its victims from among the proud, the well-born, and
the wealthy, entering unabashed into stately chambers,
and lying down with tlhe slumberers in silken beds.
Some of the most distinguished guests of the Province
Tlouse-even those whom the haughty Lady Eleanore
Biocheliffe had deemed not unworthy of her favor-were
stricken by this fatal scourge. It was noticed, with an
ungenerous bitterness of feeling, that the four gentlemen
-the Virginian, the British officer, the young clergy-
man, and the Governor's secretary who had been her


most devoted attendants on the evening of tie ball were
the foremost on whom lihe plague-stroke fell. But the
disease, pursuing its onward progress, soon ceased to be
exclusively a prerogative of aristocracy. Its red brand
was no longer conferred, like a noble's star, or an order
of knighthood. It threaded its way through the narrow
and crooked streets, and entered the low, mean, dark-
some dwellings, and laid its hand of death upon the
artisans and laboring classes of the town. It compelled
rich and poor to feel themselves brethren, then; and
stalking to and fro across the Three Hills, with a fierce-
ness which made it almost a new pestilence, there was
that mighty conqueror-- that scourge and horror of our
forefathers tile Small-Pox !
We cannot estimate the aflright which this plague in-
spired of yore, by contemplating it as the fangless mon-
ster of tile present day. We must remember, rather,
with what awe we watched the gigantic footsteps of tile
Asiatic cholera, striding from shore to shore of the At-
lautic, and marching like destiny upon cities far remote,
which flight had already lialf depopulated. There is no
other fear so horrible and unhionanizing, as that wlichel
makes man dread to breathe Heaven's vital air, lest it
he poison, or to grasp the hand of a brother or friend,
lest the gripe of the pestilence should clutch him. Suchi
was the dismay that now followed in the track of the
disease, or ran before it throughout the town. Graves
were hastily dug, and the pestilential relies as hastily
covered, because tile dead were enemies of the living,
and strove to draw them ...1 -..... as it were, into their
own dismal pit. The public councils were suspended,
as if mortal wisdom might relinquish its devices, now
that an unearthly usurper had found his way into tlhe
ruler's mansion. Had an enemy's fleet been hovering


on the coast, or his armies trampling on our soil, the
people would probably have committed their defence to
that same direful conqueror, who had wrought their own
calamity, and would permit no interference with his
sway. This conqueror had a symbol of his triumphs.
It was a blood-red flag, that fluttered in the tainted air,
over the door of every dwelling into which the Small-
Pox had entered.
Such a banner was long since waving over the portal
of the Province House; for thence, as was proved by
tracking its footsteps back, had all this dreadful mis-
chief issued. It had been traced back to a lady's luxu-
rious chamber, to the proudest of the proud, to her
that was so delicate, and 1 ....i owned herself of earthly
mould, to the haughty one, who took her stand above
human sympathies, to Lady Eleanore There re-
mained no room for doubt, that the contagion had lurked
in that gorgeous mantle, which threw so strange a grace
around her at the festival. Its fantastic splendor had
been conceived in the delirious brain of a woman on her
death-bed, and was the last toil of her stiffening fingers,
which had interwoven fate and misery with its golden
threads. This dark tale, whispered at first, was now
bruited far and wide. The people raved against the
Lady Eleanore, and cried out that her pride and scorn
had evoked a fiend, and that, between them both, this
monstrous evil had been born. At times, their rage and
despair took the semblance of grininng mirth ; and when-
ever the red flag of the pestilence was hoisted over
another, and yet another door, they clapped their
hands and shouted through the streets in bitter mock-
ery, "Behold a new triumph for the Lady Elea-
nore! "
One day, in the midst of these dismal times, a wild



figure approached the portal of the Province House, and
folding his arms, stood contemplating the scarlet banner,
which a passing breeze shook fitfully, as if to fling abroad
the contagion that it typified. At length, climbing one
of the pillars by means of the iron balustrade, lie took
down the :1,. and entered the mansion, waving it above
his head. At the foot of the staircase lie met the Gov-
ernor, booted and spurred, with his cloak drawn around
him, evidently on the point of setting forth upon a
"Wretched lunatic, what do you seek here?" ex-
claimed Shute, extending his cane to guard himself from
contact. "There is nothing here but Death. Back,-
or vou will meet him "
"Death will not touch me, the banner-bearer of the
pestilence cried Jervase Helwyse, shaking the red flag
aloft. "Death and the Pestilence, who wears the as-
pect of the Lady Eleanore, will walk through the streets
to-night, and I must march before them with this ban-
ner !
"W\1. do I waste words on the fellow?" muttered
the Governor, drawing his cloak across his month.
" What matters his miserable life, when none of us are
sure of twelve hours' breath ? On, fool, to your own
He made way for Jervase Helwyse, who immediately
ascended the staircase, but, on thle first landing-place,
was arrested by the firm grasp of a hand upon his
shoulder. Looking 1, ...l up, with a madman's im-
pulse to struggle with and rend asunder his opponent,
lie found himself powerless beneath a calm, stern eye,
which possessed the mysterious property of quelling
frenzy at its height. The person whom lie had now
encountered was the physician, Dr. Clarke, the duties


of whose sad profession had led him to the Province
House, where lie was an infrequent guest in more pros-
perous times.
Young man, what is your purpose ? demanded lie.
"I seek the Lady Eleanore," answered Jervase lel-
wyse, submissively.
All have fled from her," said the physician. Why
do you seek her now I tell you, youth, her nurse fell
death-stricken on the threshold of that fatal chamber.
Kiowv ye not, that never camue such a curse to iour
shores as this lovely Ladv Eleanore ? that her breath
has filled the air with poiso ? --- that she has shaken
pestileneo and death upon the land, from the folds of her
cursed mantle ? "
"Let me look upon her rejoined the mad youth,
more wildly. Let me behold her, in her awful beauty,
clad in the regal garments of the pestilence! She and
Death sit on a throne together. Let me kneel down be-
fore them "
"Poor youth!" said Dr. Clarke ; and, moved by a
deep sense of human weakness, a smile of caustic hu-
mor curled his lip even then. Wilt thou still worship
the destroyer, and surround her image with fantasies tlie
inor magnificent, the more evil she has wrought ? Thus
man doth ever to his tyratts Approach, tlicu! Mad-
ness, as I have noted, lias that -good efficacy, that it will
guard you from contagon ; and perchance its own cure
may be found in yonder chamber."
Ascending another flight of stairs, lie threw open a
ditor, and signed to Jervase Helwyse that lie should en-
ter. The poor hnatic, it seems probable, had cherished
a delusion that his haughty mistress sat in state, un-
harmed herself hb the pestilential inlluenee, which, as
by euchantmient, she scattered round about her. lHe



dreamed, no doubt, that her beauty was not dimmed,
but brightened into superhuman splendor. With such
anticipations, lie stole reverentially to the door at which
the physician stood, but paused upon the threshold,
gazing fearfully into the gloom of tile darkened cham-
Where is the Lady Elcanore ? whispered he.
Call her," replied the physician.
Lady Eleanore Princess Queen of Death "
cried Jervase llelwyse, advancing three steps into the
chamber. She is not here There, on yonder table, I
behold the sparkle of a diamond which once she wore
upon her bosom. There," and he shuddered, -
" there hangs her mantle, on which a dead woman em-
broidered a spell of dreadful potency. But where is the
Lady Eleanore ? "
Something stirred within the silken curtains of a cano-
pied bed; and a low moan was uttered, which, listening
intently, Jervase Hlelwyse began to distinguish as a wo-
man's voice, complaining dolefully of thirst. He fancied,
even, that lie recognized its tones.
"My throat!- my throat is scorched," murmured
the voice. "A drop of water!"
What thing art thou said the brain-stricken
youth, drawing near the bed and tearing asunder its
curtains. Whose voice hast thou stolen for thy
murmurs and miserable petitions, as if Lady Eleanore
could be conscious of mortal infirmity ? Fie! Heap
of diseased mortality, why lurkest thou in my lady's
chamber ?"
"O Jervase IIclwyse," said the voice, -and as it
spoke, hie figure contorted itself, struggling to hide
its blasted face,-"look not now on the woman you
once loved The curse of Heaven hath stricken me,


because I would not call man my brother, nor woman
sister. I wrapped myself in PRIDE as in a MANTLE, and
scorned the sympathies of nature; and therefore has
nature made this wretched body the medium of a dread-
ful sympathy. You are avenged, they are all avenged,
- nature is avenged, for I am Eleanore Roclh-
clilfe! "
The malice of his mental disease, the bitterness
lurking at the bottom of his heart, mad as he was,
for a blighted and ruined life, and love that had been
paid with cruel scorn, awoke within the breast of Jer-
vase Ilelwyse. He shook his finger at the wretched
girl, and the chamber echoed, the curtains of the
bed were shaken, with his outburst of insane merri-
Another triumph for the Lady Eleanore lie cried.
"All have been her victims Who so ..1., to be the
final victim as herself? "
Impelled by some new fantasy of his crazed intellect,
he snatched the fatal mantle and rushed from the cham-
ber and the house. That night, a procession passed, by
torchlight, through the streets, hearing in the midst the
figure of a woman, enveloped with a richly embroidered
mantle ; while in advance stalked Jervase Helwyse, wav-
ing the red flag of the pestilence. Arriving opposite the
Province House, the mob burned the IL. and a strong
wind came and swept away tile ashes. It was said, that,
from that very hour, the pestilence abated, as if its sway
had some mysterious connection, from tile first plague-
stroke to the last, with Lady Eleanore's Mantle. A re-
markable uncertainty broods over that unhappy lady's
fate. There is a belief, however, that, in a certain
chamber of this mansion, a female form may sometimes be
duskily discerned, shrinking into the darkest corner, and


muffling her face within an embroidered mantle. Sup-
7 posing the legend true, can this be other than the once
proud Lady Elcanore ?

Mine host, and the old loyalist, and I bestowed no
little warmth of applause upon this narrative, in which
we had all been deeply interested; for the reader can
scarcely conceive how unspeakably the effect of such a
tale is heightened, when, as in the present case, we may
repose perfect confidence in the veracity of him who
tells it. For my own part, knowing how scrupulous
is Mr. Tiffany to settle the foundation of his facts, I
could not have believed him one whit the more faith-
fully, had lie professed himself an eye-witness of the
doings and sufferings of poor Lady Eleanore. Some
sceptics, it is true, might demand documentary evidence,
or even require him to produce the embroidered mantle,
forgetting that Heaven be praised it was consumed
to ashes. But now the old loyalist, whose blood was
warmed by the good cheer, began to talk, in his turn,
about the traditions of the Province House, and hinted
that he, if it were agreeable, might add a few reminis-
cences to our legendary stock. Mr. Tiffany, having no
cause to dread a rival, immediately besought him to
favor us with a specimen ; my own entreaties, of course,
were urged to the same effect; and our venerable guest,
well pleased to find willing auditors, awaited only the
return of Mr. Thomas Waite, who had been summoned
forth to provide accommodations for several new arrivals.
Perchance the public -but be this as its own caprice
and ours shall settle the matter -may read the result
in another Tale of the Province House.




I TTiR host having resumed the chair, he, as well
s J as r. i' '.l an11d myself, expressed much
;i __ _r eagerness to he made acquainted with the story
to which the loyalist had alluded. That venerable man
first of all saw fit to moisten his throat with another
glass of wine, and then, turning his face towards our
coal-fire, looked I. l, i i for a few moments into the
depths of its cheerful glow. I, ,il lie poured forth a
great fluency of speech. The generous liquid that he
had imbibed, while it warned hi;s age-chilled blood, like-
wise took off the chill from his heart and mind, and gave
him an energy to think and feel, which we could hardly
have expected to find beneath the snows of fourscore
winters. His feelings, indeed, appeared to me more
excitable than those of a younger man ; or, at least,
the same degree of feeling manifested itself by more
visible effects, than if his judgment and will had pos-
sessed the potency of meridian life. At lthe pathetic
passages of his narrative, he readily melted into tears.
When a breath of indignation swept across his spirit,


the blood flushed his withered visage even to the roots
of his white hair; and lie shook his clinched fist at the
trio of peaceful auditors, seeming to fancy enemies
in those who felt very kindly towards the desolate old
soul. But ever and anon, sometimes in the midst
of his most earnest talk, Ihis ancient person's intellect
would wander vaguely, losing its hold of the matter in
]and, and groping for it amid misty shadows. Then
would lie cackle forth a feeble laugh, and express a
doubt whether his wits-for by that phrase it pleased
our ancient friend to signify his mental powers were
not getting a little the worse for wear.
Under these disadvantages, the old loyalist's story re-
Squired more revision to render it fit for the public eye,
.than those of thi series wlichi have preceded it; nor
* should it be concealed, that the sentiment and tone of the
v affair may have undergone some slight, or perchance more
than slight metamorphosis, in its transmission to the
reader through the medium of a thorough-going demo-
crat. The tale itself is a mere sketch, with no involution
of plot, nor any great interest of events, yet possessing, if
I have rehearsed it aright, that pensive influence over the
I w;,n.1 which the shadow of the old Province House !Il[. ,
th ... the loiterer in its court-yard.

SThe hour had come the hour of defeat and humilia-
Stion--when Sir 1;'l, .... IIHowe was to pass over the
threshold of the Province House, and embark, with no
such triumphal ceremonies as lie once promised himself,
on board the British fleet. le buade his servants and
military attendants go before him, and lingered a moment
in the loneliness of the mansion, to quell the fierce emo-


tions that struggled in his bosom as with a death-throb.
Preferable, then, would he have deemed his fate, had a
warrior's death left him a claim to the narrow territory
of a grave, within the soil which the King had given him
to defend. With an ominous perception that, as his de-
parting footsteps echoed down the staircase, lhe sway of
Britain was passing forever from New England, lie smote
his clinched hand on his brow, and cursed the destiny
that had flung the shame of a dismembered empire upon
Would to God," cried he, ', ..!11 ". .... :,,_ his tears
of rage, that the rebels were even now at the doorstep!
A blood-stain upon the floor should then bear testimony
that the last British ruler was faithful to his trust."
The tremulous voice of a woman replied to his ex-
"Heaven's cause and the King's are one," it said.
"Go forth, Sir '\ll ..... Howe, and trust in Heaven to
bring back a Royal Governor in triumph."
Subduing at once the passion to which lie had yielded
only in the faith that it was unwitnessed, Sir William
Howe became conscious that an aged woman, leaning on
a gold-headed staff, was standing betwixt him and the
door. It was old Esther l,.ii]. who had dwelt almost
immemorial years in this mansion, until her presence
seemed as inseparable from it as the recollections of its
history. She was the daughter of an ancient and once
eminent family, which had fallen into poverty and decay,
and left its last descendant no resource save the county
of the King, nor any shelter except within the walls of
the Province House. An office in the household, with
merely nominal duties, had been assigned to her as a
pretext for the payment of a small pension, the greater
part of which she expended in adorning herself with an



antique magnificence of attire. The claims of Esther
Dudley's gentle blood were acknowledged by all the suc-
cessive governors ; and they treated her with the punc-
tilious courtesy which it was her foible to demand, not
always with success, from a neglectful world. The only
actual share which she assumed in the business of the
mansion was to glide through its passages and public
chambers, late at night, to see that the servants had
dropped no fire from their flaring torches, nor left embers
crackling and blazing on the hearths. Perhaps it was
this invariable custom of walking her rounds in the hush
of midnight, that caused the superstition of the times to
invest the old woman with attributes of awe and mystery;
fabling that she had entered the portal of the Province
House, none knew whence, in the train of the first royal
governor, and that it was her fate to dwell there till the
last should have departed. But Sir William Howe, if he
ever heard this legend, had forgotten it.
"Mistress Dudley, why are you loitering here?"
asked he, with some severity of tone. "It is my pleas-
ure to be the last in this mansion of the King."
"Not so, if it please your E. ]... i. ," answered the
time-stricken woman. "This roof has sheltered me
long. I will not pass from it until they bear me to the
tomb of my forefathers. What other shelter is there
for old Esther Dudley, save the Province House or the
grave ? "
Now Heaven forgive me said Sir William HIowe
to himself. "I was about to leave this wretched old
creature to starve or beg. Take this, good Mistress
-Dudley," he added, putting a purse into her hands.
"King George's head on these golden guineas is sterling
yet, and will continue so, I warrant you, even should the
rebels crown John Hancock their king. That purse will


buy a better shelter than the Province House can now
While the burden of life remains upon me, I will
have no other shelter than this roof," persisted Esther
Dudley, striking her staff upon the floor, with a gesture
that expressed immovable resolve. And when your
Excellency returns in triumph, I will totter into the
porch to welcome you."
"My poor old friend answered the British General;
and all his manly and martial pride could no longer re-
strain a gush of bitter tears. This is an evil hour for
yon and me. The province which the King intrusted to
my charge is lost. I go hence in misfortune perchance
in disgrace -to return no more. And you, whose pres-
ent being is incorporated with the past, -who have
seen governor after governor, in stately pageantry, ascend
these steps, whose whole life has beennan observance of
majestic ceremonies, and a worship of the King,- how
will you endure the change ? Come with us Bid fare-
well to a land that has shaken off its allegiance, and live
still under a royal government, at Halifax."
Never, never!" said the pertinacious old dame.
" Iere will I abide; and King George shall .i1' .. .
true subject in his disloyal province."
"BJeshrew the old fool! muttered Sir William Howe,
growing impatient of her obstinacy, and ashamed of the
emotion into which lie had been betrayed. She is the
very moral of old-fashioned prejudice, and could exist
nowhere but in this musty edifice. Well, then, Mistress
Dudley, since you will needs tarry, I give the Province
House in charge to you. Take this key, and keep it safe
until myself, or some other royal governor, shall demand
it of you."
Smiling bitterly at himself and her, he took the heavy


key of the Province House, and delivering it into the old
lady's hands, drew his cloak around him for departure.
As tie General glanced back at Esther Dudley's antique
figure, he deemed her well fitted for such a charge, as
being so perfect a representative of the decayed past,
of an age gone by, with its manners, opinions, faith, and
feelings, all fallen into oblivion or scorn,;- of what had
once been a reality, but was now merely a vision of faded
magnificence. Tlieu Sir William Howe strode forth,
smiting his clinched hands together, in the fierce anguish
of his spirit; and old Esther Dudley was left to keep
watch in the lonely Province House, dwelling there withl
memory; and if Hope ever sented to flit around her, still
it was Memory in disguise.
The total change of affairs that ensued on the depart-
ure of the British troops did not drive the venerable lady
from her stronghold. There was not, for many years
afterwards, a governor of Massachusetts ; and the magis-
trates, who had charge of such matters, saw no objection
to Esther Dudley's residence in the Province House, es-
pecially as they must otherwise have paid a hireling for
taking care of the premises, which with her was a labor
of love. And so they left her, the undisturbed mistress
of the old historic edifice. Many and strange were the
fables which tihe gossips whispered about her, in all the
chimney-corners of the town. Among the time-worn
articles of furniture that had been left in the mansion,
there was a tall, antique mirror, which was well worthy
of a tale by itself, and perhaps may hereafter he the theme
of one. The gold of its heavily wrought frame was tar-
nished, and its surface so blurred, that the old woman's
figure, whenever she paused before it, looked indistinct
and ghost-like. But it was the general belief that Esther
could cause the governors of the overthrown dynasty,


with the beautiful ladies who had once adorned their
festivals, the Indian chiefs who had come up to the
Province House to hold council or swear allegiance, the
grim provincial warriors, the severe clergymen, in
short, all the pageantry of gone days, all the figures
that ever swept across the broad plate of glass in former
times, she could cause the whole to reappear, and peo-
ple the inner world of the mirror with shadows of old life.
Such legends as these, together with the singularity of
her isolated existence, her age, and the infirmity that each
added winter flung upon her, made Mistress Dudley the
object both of fear and pity; and it was partly the result
of either sentiment, that, amid all the angry license of the
times, neither wrong nor insult ever fell upon her unpro-
tected head. Indeed, there was so much haughtiness in
her demeanor towards intruders, among whom she reck-
oned all persons acting under tie new authorities, that it
was really an affair of no small nerve to look her in the
face. And to do the people justice, stern republicans as
they had now become, they were well content that the old
gentlewoman, in her hoop petticoat and faded embroidery,
should still haunt the palace of ruined pride and over-
thrown power, the symbol of a departed system, embody-
ing a history in her person. So Esther Dudley dwelt,
year after year, in the Province House, still reverencing
all that others had flung aside, still faithful to her King,
who, so long as the venerable dame yet held her post,
might be said to retain one true subject in New England,
and one spot of the empire that had been wrested from
And did she dwell there in utter loneliness ? Rumor
said, not so. Whenever her chill and withered heart
desired warmth, she was wont to summon a black slave
of Governor Shirley's from the blurred mirror, and send


him in search of guests who had long ago been familiar
in those deserted chambers. Forth went the sable mes-
senger, with the starlight or the moonshine gleaming
through him, and did his errand in the burial-ground,
knocking at the iron doors of tombs, or upon the marble
slabs that covered them, and whispering to those within,
" My mistress, old Esther Dudley, bids you to the Prov-
ince House at midnight." And punctually as the clock
of the Old South told twelve, came the shadows of the
Olivers, the Hutchinsons, the Dudleys, all the grandees
of a bygone generation, gliding beneath the portal into
the well-known mansion, where Esther mingled with them
as if she likewise were a shade. Without vouching for
the truth of such traditions, it is certain that Mistress
Dudley sometimes assembled a few of the stanch, though
crestfallen old stories who had lingered in the rebel town
during those days of wrath and tribulation. Out of a
cobwebbed bottle, containing liquor that a royal governor
might have smacked his lips over, they quaffed health to
the King, and babbled treason to the Republic, feeling
as if the protecting shadow of the throne were still flung
around them. But, draining the last drops of their liquor,
they stole timorously homeward, and answered not again,
if the rude mob reviled them in the street.
Yet Esther Dudley's most frequent and favored guests
were the children of the town. Towards them she was
never stern. A kindly and loving nature, hindered else-
where from its free course by a thousand rocky preju-
dices, lavished itself upon these little ones. By bribes of
gingerbread of her own making, stamped with a royal
crown, she tempted their sunny sportiveness beneath the
gloomy portal of the Province House, and would often
beguile them to spend a whole play-day there, sitting in
a circle round the verge of her hoop petticoat, greedily


attentive to her stories of a dead world. And when these
little boys and girls stole forth again from the dark, mys-
terious mansion, they went bewildered, full of old feelings
that graver people had long ago forgotten, rubbing their
eyes at the world around them as if they had gone astray
into ancient times, and become children of the past. At
home, when their parents asked where they had loitered
such a weary while, and with whom they had been at
play, the children would talk of all the departed worthies
of the province, as far back as Governor Belcher, and
the haughty dame of Sir William Phipps. It would
seem as 'i..i.... they had been sitting on the knees of
these famous personages, whom the grave had hidden
for half a century, and had toyed with the embroidery of
their rich waistcoats, or roguishly pulled the long curls
of their flowing wigs. "But Governor Belcher has been
dead this many a year," would the mother say to her
little boy. "And did you really see him at the Province
House ? "O, yes, dear mother! yes!" the half-
dreaming child would answer. But when old Esther
had done speaking about him lie faded away out of his
chair." Thus, without ..II...... i her little guests, she
led them by the hand into the chambers of her own deso-
late heart, and made childhood's fancy discern the ghosts
that haunted there.
Living so continually in her own circle of ideas, and
never regulating her mind by a proper reference to
present -i1 ,. Esther Dudley appears to have grown
p..I!:- crazed. It was found that she had no right
sense of the progress and true state of the Revolutionary
War, but held a constant faith that the armies of Britain
were victorious on every field, and destined to be ulti-
mately triumphant. Whenever the town rejoiced for a
battle won by Washington, or Gates, or Morgan, or



Greene, the news, in passing through the door of the
Province House, as through the ivory gate of dreams,
became metamorphosed into a strange tale of the prowess
of Howe, Clinton, or Cornwallis. Sooner or later, it
was her invincible belief, the colonies would be prostrate
at the footstool of the King. Sometimes she seemed to
take for granted that such was already the case. On
one occasion, she startled the towns-people by a brill-
iant illumination of the Province House, with candles at
every pane of glass, and a transparency of the King's
initials and a crown of light, in the great balcony win-
dow. The figure of the aged woman, in the most gor-
geous of her mildewed velvets and brocades, was seen
passing from casement to casement, until she paused be-
fore the balcony, and flourished a huge key above her
head. Her wrinkled visage actually gleamed with tri-
umph, as if the soul within her were a festal lamp.
"What means this blaze of light? What does old
Esther's joy portend ? whispered a spectator. It is
frightful to see her gliding about the chambers, and re-
joicing there without a soul to bear her company."
It is as if she were making merry in a tomb," said
"Pshaw! It is no such mystery," observed an old
man, after some brief exercise of memory. Mistress
Dudley is keeping jubilee for the King of England's

Then the people laughed aloud, and would have
thrown mud against the blazing transparency of the
King's crown and initials, only that they pitied the
poor old dame, who was so dismally triumphant amid
the wreck and ruin of the system to which she apper-
Oftentimes it was her custom to climb the weary stair-


case that wound upward to the cupola, and thence strain
her dimmed eyesight seaward and countryward, watching
for a British fleet, or for the march of a grand proces-
sion, with the King's banner floating over it. The pas-
sengers in the street below would discern her anxious
visage, and send up a shout, When the golden In-
dian on the Province House shall shoot his arrow, and
when the cock on the Old Soult spire shall crow, then
look for a royal governor again for this had grown
a byword through the town. And at last, after long,
long years, old Esther Dudley knew, or perchance she
only dreamed, that a royal governor was on the eve of
returning to the Province House, to receive the heavy
key which Sir William Howe had committed to her
charge. Now it was the fact, that intelligence bearing
sonic faint analogy to Esther's version of it, was current
among the towns-people. She set the mansion in the
best order that her means allowed, and arraying herself
in silks and tarnished gold, stood long before the blurred
mirror to admire her own magnificence. As she gazed,
the gray and withered lady moved her ashen lips, mur-
muring half aloud, talking to shapes that she saw within
1 le mirror, to shadows of her own fantasies, to the house-
hold friends of memory, and bidding them rejoice with
her, and come forth to meet the governor. And while
absorbed in this communion, Mistress Dudley heard the
tramp of many footsteps in the street, and looking out
at the window, beheld what she construed as the royal
governor's arrival.
0 happy day 0 blessed, blessed hour site ex-
claimed. "Let me but bid him welcome within the por-
tal, and my task in the Province House, and on earth,
is done!"
Then with tottering feet, which age and tremulous joy



caused to tread amiss, she hurried down the grand stair-
case, her silks sweeping and rustling as she went, so that
the sound was as if a train of spectral courtiers were
-,r..:;. front the dim mirror. And Esther Dudley
fancied, that as soon as the wide door should be flung
open, all the pomp and splendor of bygone times would
pace majestically into the Province House, and the gilded
tapestry of the past would he brightened by the sunshine
of the present. She turned the key, -withdrew it from
the lock, unclosed the door, and stepped across the
threshold. Advancing up the court-yard appeared a
person of most dignifd ied in, with tokens, as Esther
interpreted them, of ...0il, blood, high rank, and long-
accustomed ,li,....i even in his walk and every ges-
ture. He was richly dressed, but wore a gouty shoe,
which, however, did not lessen the stateliness of his gait.
Around and behind him were people in plain civic
dresses, and two or three war-worn veterans, evidently
officers of rank, arrayed in a uniform of blue and buff.
But Esther ID'u.. firm in the belief that had fastened
its roots about her heart, beheld only the principal per-
sonage, and never doubted that this was the long-looked-
for governor, to whom she was to surrender up her
charge. As he approached, she involuntarily sank down
on her knees, and tremblingly held forth the heavy key.
"Receive my trust! take it quickly!" cried she ;
"for methinks Death is striving to snatch away my tri-
umph. But le comes too late. Thank Heaven for this
blessed hour! God save King George! "
"That, madam, is a strange prayer to he offered up
at such a moment," replied the unknown guest of the
Province House, and courteously removing his hat, lie
offered his arm to raise the aged woman. Yet, in rev-
erence for your gray hairs and long-kept faith, Heaven
"VOL. II. 4


forbid that any here should say you nay. Over the
realms which still acknowledge his sceptre, God save
King George !"
Esther l-,.11 started to her feet, and hastily clutch-
ing back the key, gazed with fearful earnestness at the
stranger; and dimly and i .,,i111ii as if suddenly
awakened from a dream, her bewildered eyes half rec-
ognized his face. Years ago, she had known him among
the gentry of the province. But the ban of the King
had fallen upon him How, then, came the doomed
victim here ? Proscribed, excluded from mercy, the
monarch's most dreaded and hated foe, this New Eng-
land merchant had stood triumphantly against a king-
dom's strength ; and his foot now trod upon humbled
1>. .11 as he ascended the steps of the Province House,
the people's closen governor of Massachusetts.
Wretch, wretch that I am muttered the old wo-
man, with such a heart-broken expression, that the tears
gushed from the stranger's eyes. Have I bidden a
traitor welcome? Come, Death! come quickly! "
"Alas, venerable lady! said Governor Hancock,
lending her his support with all the reverence that a
courtier would have shown to a queen. Your life has
been prolonged until the world has changed around you.
You have treasured up all that time has rendered worth-
less, the principles, feelings, manners, modes of being
and acting, which another generation has 1.... aside,-
and you are a symbol of the past. And I, and these
around me, we represent a new race of men, living
no longer in the past, scarcely in lihe present, -but pro-
jecting our lives forward into the future. Ceasing to
model ourselves on ancestral superstitions, it is our faith
and principle to press onward, onward Yet," continued
he, turning to his attendants, "let us reverence, for the


last time, the stately and gorgeous prejudices of the
tottering Past!"
While the republican governor spoke, he had con-
tinued to support the helpless form of Esther Dudley;
her weight grew heavier against his arm; but at last,
with a sudden effort to free herself, the ancient woman
sank down beside one of the pillars of the portal. The
key of the Province House fell from her grasp, and
clanked against the stone.
"I- have been faithful unto death," murmured she.
God save the King! "
She hath done her office! said Hancock, solemnly.
"We will follow her reverently to the tomb of her an-
cestors; and then, my fellow-citizens, onward, onward!
We arc no longer children of the Past! "

As the old loyalist concluded his narrative, the enthu-
siasm which had been fitfully :1. i' -,; within his sunken
eyes, and quivering across his wrinkled visage, faded
away, as if all the lingering fire of his soul were extin-
guished. Just then, too, a lamp upon the mantel-piece
threw out a dying gleam, which vanished as speedily as
it shot upward, compelling our eyes to grope for one
another's features by the dim glow of the hearth. With
such a lingering fire, methought, with such a dying gleam,
had the glory of the ancient system vanished from the
Province House, when the spirit of old Esther Dudley
took its flight. And now, again, the clock of the Old
South threw its voice of ages on the breeze, I .li;,_ the
hourly knell of the Past, crying out far and wide through
the multitudinous city, and filling our ears, as we sat in
the dusky chamber, with its reverberating depth of tone.


In that same mansion, in that very chamber, what
a volume of history had been told off into hours, by the
same voice that was now trembling in the air. Many a
governor had heard those midnight accents, and longed
to exchange his stately cares for slumber. And as for
mine host, and Mlr. Bela Tiffany, and the old loyalist,
and me, we had babbled about dreams of the past, until
we almost fancied that the clock was still striking in a
bygone century. Neither of us would have wondered,
had a hoop-petticoated phantom of Esther Dudley tottered
into the chamber, walking her rounds in the hush of
midnight, as of yore, and motioned us to quench tle
fading embers of the fire, and leave the historic precincts
to herself and her kindred shades. B ut as no such vision
was vouchsafed, I retired unbidden, and would advise
Mr. Tiffany to lay hold of another auditor, being resolved
not to show my face in the Province House for a good
while hence, if ever.

*~ ~ ~ ~ ~ P -^---- ----- -^-- --- -__


ili Pi' a singular moment is the first one, when
..I L avc. l,,i, begun to recollect yourself
5 r starting from midilight slumber! By uin-
closing your eyes so suddenly, you seem to have surprised
the personages of your dream in full convocation round
your bed, and catch one broad glance at them before ih.
can flit into obscurity. Or, to vary the metaphor, you
find yourself, for a single instant, wide awake in that
realm of illusions, whilher sleep has been the passport,
and behold its ghostly inhabitants and wondrous scenery,
with a perception of their strangeness, such as you never
attain while the dream is undisturbed. The distant sound
of a church-clock is borne faintly on the wind. You
question with yourself, half seriously, whether it has
stolen to your waking car from some gray tower, that
stood within the precincts of your dream. While yet in
suspense, another clock flings its heavy clang over th:
slumbering town, with so full and distinct a sound, and
such a long murmur in fihe neighboring ,iir, that you are
certain it must proceed from the steeple at the nearest
corner. You count the strokes- one two, and there
they cease, with a booming sound, like the gathering of
a third stroke within the bell.


If you could choose an hour of wakefulness out of the
whole night, it would be this. Since your sober bedtime,
at eleven, you have had rest enough to take off the press-
ure of yesterday's fatigue; while before you, till the sun
comes from "far ( ,11 'to brighten your window, there
is almost the space of a summer night ; one hour to be
spent in thought, with the mind's eye half shut, and two
in pleasant dreams, and two in that strangest of enjoy-
ments, the forgetfulness alike of joy and woe. The
moment of rising belongs to another period of time, and
appears so distant, that the plunge out of a warm bed
into the frosty air cannot yet be anticipated with dismay.
Yesterday has already vanished among the shadows of the
past; to-morrow has not yet emerged from the future.
You have found an intermediate space, where the busi-
ness of life does not intrude; where the passing moment
lingers, and becomes truly the present; a spot where
Father Time, when he thinks nobody is watching him,
sits down by the wayside to take breath. 0 that lie
would fall asleep, and let mortals live on without growing
Hitherto you have lain perfectly still, because the
slightest motion would dissipate the fragments of your
slumber. Now, being irrevocably awake, you peep
through the half-drawn window-curtain, and observe
that the glass is ornamented with fanciful devices in
frostwork, and that each pane presents something like a
frozen dream. There will be time enough to trace out the
analogy, while waiting the summons to breakfast. Seen
liii ....i the clear portion of the glass, where the silvery
mountain-peaks of the frost scenery do not ascend, the
most conspicuous object is the steeple, the white spire of
which directs you to the wintry lustre of the firmament.
You may almost distinguish the figures on the clock that



has just told the hour. Such a frosty sky, and the
snow-covered roofs, and the long vista of the frozen
street, all white, and the distant water hardened into
rock, might make you shiver, even under four blankets
and a woollen comforter. Yet look at that one glorious
star! Its beams are distinguishable from all the rest,
and actually cast the shadow of the casement on the bed,
with a radiance of deeper hue than moonlight, though
not so accurate an outline.
You sink down and muffle your head in the clothes,
shivering all the while, but less from bodily chill than
the bare idea of a polar atmosphere. It is too cold even
for the thoughts to venture abroad. You speculate on
the luxury of wearing out a whole existence in bed, like
an oyster in its shell, content with the sluggish ecstasy
of inaction, and drowsily conscious of nothing but deli-
cious warmth, such as you now feel again. Alh! that
idea has brought a hideous one in its train. You think
how the dead are lying in their cold shrouds and narrow
coffins, tlrougl the drear winter of the grave, and can-
not persuade your fancy that they neither shrink nor
shiver, wlhen the snow is drifting over their little hillocks,
and the bitter blast howls against the door of the tomb.
That gloomy thought will collect a gloomy multitude,
and throw its complexion over your wakeful hour.
In the depths of every heart there is a tomb and a
dungeon, though the lights, the music, and revelry above
may cause us to forget their existence, and the buried
ones, or prisoners whom they hide. But sometimes,
and oftenest at midnight, these dark receptacles are flung
wide open. In an hour like this, when the mind has a
passive sensibility, but no active strength; when the
imagination is a mirror, imparting vividness to all ideas,
without the power of selecting or controlling them ; then


pray that your griefs may slumber, and the brotherhood
of remorse not break their chain. It is too late A fu-
neral train comes gliding by your bed, in which Passion
and Feeling assume bodily shape, and things of the mind
become dim spectres to the eye. There is your earliest
Sorrow, a pale young mourner, wearing a sister's like-
ness to first love, sadly beautiful, with a hallowed sweet-
ness in her melancholy features, and grace in the flow of
her sable robe. Next appears a shade of ruined loveli-
ness, with dust among her golden hair, and her bright
garments all faded and defaced, stealing from your
glance with drooping head, as fearful of reproach; she
was your fondest Hope, but a delusive one; so call her
Disappointment now. A sterner form succeeds, with a
brow of wrinkles, a look and gesture of iron authority;
there is no name for him unless it be Fatality, an cm-
blem of the evil influence that rules your fortunes; a
demon to whom you subjected yourself by some error at
the outset of life, and were bound his slave forever, by
once obeying him. See those fiendish lineaments gra-
ven on the darkness, the writhed lip of scorn, the mock-
ery of that living eye, the pointed finger, touching the
sore place in your heart Do you remember any act of
enormous folly, at which you would blush, even in the
remotest cavern of the earth ? Then recognize your
Pass, wretched band Well for the wakeful one,
if, riotously miserable, a fiercer tribe do not surround
him, the devils of a guilty heart, that holds its hell
within itself. What if iemnorse should assume the
features of an injured friend ? What if the fiend should
come in woman's garments, with a pale beauty amid sin
and desolation, and lie down by your side ? What if lie
should stand at your bed's foot; in the likeness of a



corpse, with a bloody stain upon the shroud ? Sufficient
without such guilt is this nightmare of the soul; this
heavy, heavy sinking of the spirits ; this wintry gloom
about the heart; this indistinct horror of the mind,
blending itself with the darkness of the chamber.
By a desperate effort, you start upright, breaking from
a sort of conscious sleep, and gazing wildly round tile
bed, as if the fiends were anywhere but in your haunted
mind. At the same moment, the slumbering embers on
the hearth send forth a gleam which palely illuminates
the whole outer room, and flickers through the door of
the bedchamber, but cannot quite dispel its obscurity.
Your eye searches for whatever may remind you of the
living world. With cager minuteness, you take note of
the table near the fireplace, the book with an ivory knife
between its leaves, the unfolded letter, the hat, and the
fallen glove. Soon the flame vanishes, and with it the
whole scene is goue, though its image remains an instant
in your mind's eye, when darkness has swallowed the
reality. Throughout tile chamber, there is the same ob-
scurity as before, but not the same gloom within your
breast. As your head falls back upon the pillow, you
think-in a whisper be it spoken-how pleasant in
these night solitudes would be the rise and fall of a
softer breathing than your own, the slight pressure of a
tenderer bosom, tile quiet throb of a purer heart, impart-
ing its peacefulness to your troubled one, as if the fond
sleeper were involving you in her dream.
Iler influence is over you, though she have no exist-
ence but in that momentary image. You sink down in
a flowery spot, on the borders of sleep and wakefulness,
while your thoughts rise before you in pictures, all dis-
connected, yet all assimilated by a pervading gladsome-
ness and beauty. The wheeling of gjrg.'ous squadrons,
4* p


that glitter in the sun, is succeeded by the merriment
of children round the door of a school-house, beneath
the glimmering shadow of old trees, at the corner of a
rustic lane. You stand in the sunny rain of a summer
shower, and wander among the sunny trees of an autum-
nal wood, and look upward at the brightest of all rain-
bows, overarching the unbroken sheet of snow, on the
American side of Niagara. Your mind struggles pleas-
antly between the dancing radiance round the hearth of
a young man and his recent bride, and the twittering
flight of birds in spring, about their new-made nest.
You feel the merry bounding of a ship before the
breeze; and watch the tuneful feet of rosy girls, as
they twine their last and merriest dance in a splendid
ballroom; and find yourself in the brilliant circle of a
crowded theatre, as the curtain falls over a light and
airy scene.
With an involuntary start, you seize hold on con-
sciousness, and prove yourself but half awake, by run-
ning a doubtful parallel between human life and the
hour which has now elapsed. In both you emerge
from mystery, pass through a vicissitude that you can
but imperfectly control, and are borne onward to an-
other mystery. Now comes the peal of the distant
clock, with fainter and fainter strokes as you plunge
further into the wilderness of sleep. It is the knell of
a temporary death. Your spirit has departed, and strays
like a free citizen, among the people of a shadowy world,
beholding strange sights, yet without wonder or dismay.
So calm, perhaps, will be the final change; so undis-
turbed, as if among familiar things, the entrance of the
soul to its Eternal home !



-I. ,ME! another log upon the hearth. True, our
r I 1 I, parlor is comfortable, especially here, where
I.' old man sits in his old arm-chair; but on
Thanksgiving night the blaze should dance higher up
the chimney, and send a shower of sparks into the
outer darkness. Toss on an armful of those dry oak
chips, the last relics of the Mermaid's knee-timbers, the
bones of your namesake, Susan. Higher yet, and clearer
be the blaze, till our cottage windows glow the ruddiest
in the village, and the light of our household mirth
fl.ish far across the bay to Naliant. And now, come,
Susan, come, my children, draw your chairs round me,
all of you. There is a dimness over your figures! You
sit quivering indistinctly with each motion of the blaze,
which eddies about you like a flood, so that you all have
the look of visions, or people that dwell only in the fire-
light, and will vanish from existence, as completely as
your own shadows, when the flame shall sink among
the embers. Hark! let me listen for the swell of tile
surf; it should be audible a mile inland, on a night like
this. Yes; there I catch the sound, but only an uncer-
tain murmur, as if a good way down over the beach;


though, by the almanac, it is high tide at eight o'clock,
and the billows must now be dashing within thirty yards
of our door. Ah! the old man's ears are failing him;
and so is his eyesight, and perhaps his mind; else you
would not all be so shadowy, in the blaze of his Thanks-
giving fire.
Hlow strangely the Past is peeping over the shoulders
of the Present! To judge by my recollections, it is but
a few moments since 1 sat in another room ; yonder
model of a vessel was not there, nor the old chest of
drawers, nor Susan's proile and mine, in that gilt frame;
I...I;..., in short, except this same fire, which glitmoered
on books, papers, and a picture, and half discovered my
solitary figure in a looking-glass. But it was paler than
my rugged old self, and younger, too, by almost half a
century. Speak to me, Susan ; speak, my beloved ones;
for the scene is glimmering on my sight again, and as
it brightens you fade away. 0, I should be loath to
lose my treasure of past happiness, and become once
more what I was then ; a hermit in the depths of my
own mind; sometimes yawning over drowsy volumes,
and anon a scribbler of wearier trash than what I read;
a man who had wandered out of the real world and got
into its shadow, where his troubles, joys, and vicissitudes
were of such slight stuff, that he hardly knew whether
lie lived, or only dreamed of living. Thank Heaven,
I am an old man now, and have done with all such
Still this dimness of mine eyes Come nearer, Susan,
and stand before the fullest blaze of the hearth. Now
I behold you illuminated from head to foot, in your
clean cap and decent gown, with the dear lock of gray
hair across your forehead, and a quiet smile about your
mouth, while the eyes alone are concealed, by the red


gleam of the fire upon your spectacles. There, you
made me tremble again! When the flame quivered,
my sweet Susan, you quivered with it, and grew indis-
tinct, as if melting into the warm light, that my last
glimpse of you might be as visionary as the first was,
full many a year since. Do you remember it? You
stood on the little bridge, over the brook, that runs
across King's Beach into the sea. It was twilight; the
waves rolling in, the wind sweeping by, the crimson
clouds fading in the west, and the silver moon bright-
ening above the hill; and on the bridge were you, flut-
tering in the breeze like a sea-bird that might skim away
at your pleasure. You seemed a daughter of the view-
less wind, a creature of the ocean foam and the crimson
light, whose merry life was spent in dancing on the crests
of the billows, that threw up their spray to support your
footsteps". As I drew nearer, I fancied you akin to the
race of mermaids, and thought how pleasant it would be
to dwell with you among tlie quiet coves, in the shadow
of the cliffs, and to roam along secluded beaches of the
purest sand, and when our northern shores grew bleak,
to haunt the islands, green and lonely, far amid summer
seas. And yet it gladdened me, after all this nonsense,
to find you nothing but a pretty young girl, ,ii per-
plexed with the rude behavior of the wind about your
Thus I did with Susan as with most other things in
my earlier days, dipping her image into my mind and
coloring it of a thousand fantastic hues, before I could
see her as she really was. Now, Susan, for a sober
picture of our village! It was a small collection of
dwellings that seemed to have been cast up by the
sea, 'with the rock-weed and marine plants that it vom-
its after a storm, or to have come ashore among the


pipe-staves and other lumber, which had been washed
from the deck of an Eastern schooner. There was just
space for the narrow and sandy street between the
beach in front, and a precipitous hill that lifted its
rocky forehead in the rear, among a waste of juniper-
bushes and the wild growth of a broken pasture. The
village was picturesque, in the variety of its edifices,
though all were rude. Here stood a little old hovel,
built, perhaps, of drift-wood, there a row of boat-houses,
and beyond them a two-story dwelling, of dark and
weather-beaten aspect, the whole intermiixed with one
or two snug cottages, painted white, a sufficiency of
pigsties, and a shoemaker's shop. Two grocery-stores
stand opposite each other, in Ilie centre of the village.
These were the places of resort, at their idle hours, of
a hardy throng of fishermen, in red baize shirts, oil-
cloth trousers, and boots of brown leather covering the
whole leg; true seven-league boots, but fitter to wade
the ocean than walk the earth. The wearers seemed
amphibious, as if they did but creep out of salt water
to sun themselves; nor would it have been wonderful
to see their lower limbs covered with clusters of little
shellfish, such as cling to rocks and old ship-timber
over which the tide ebbs and flows. When their fleet
of boats was weather-bound, the butchers raised their
price, and the spit was busier than the frying-pan; for
this was a place of fish, and known as such, to all the
country round about; the very air was fishy, being
perfumed with dead sculpins, hardheads, and dogfish,
strewn -.1. ,i;til on the beach. You see, children,
the village is but little changed, since your mother and
I were young.
How like a dream it was, when I bent over a pool
of water, one pleasant morning, and saw that the ocean


had dashed its spray over me and made me a fisherman !
There were the tarpauling, the baize shirt, the oil-cloth
trousers and seven-league boots, and there my own fea-
tures, but so reddened with sunburn and sea-breezes,
that methought I had another face, and on other shoul-
ders too. The sea-gulls and the loons, and I, had now
all one trade; we skimmed the crested waves and sought
our prey beneath them, the man with as keen enjoy-
ment as the birds. Always, when the east grew purple,
I launched my dory, my little flat-bottomed skiff, and
rowed cross-handed to Point Ledge, the Middle Ledge,
or, perhaps, beyond Egg Rock; often, too, did I anchor
off Dread Ledge, a spot of peril to ships unpiloted; and
sometimes spread an adventurous sail and tracked across
the bay to South Shore, casting my lines in sight of
Scituate. Ere nightfall, I hauled my skiff high and dry
on the beach, laden with red rock-cod, or the white-
bellied ones of deep water; haddock, bearing the black
marks of St. Peter's fingers near the gills; the long-
bearded hake, whose liver holds oil enough for a mid-
night lamp; and now and then a mighty halibut, with
a back broad as my boat. In the autumn, I trolled and
caught those lovely fish, the mackerel. When the wind
was high, when the whale-boats, anchored off the
Point, nodded their slender masts at each other, and
tlhe dories pitched and tossed in the surf, -when Na-
haut Beach was thundering three miles off, and the
spray broke a hundred feet in air, round the distant
base of Egg Rock, when the brimful and boisterous
sea threatened to tumble over the street of our village,
-then I made a holiday on shore.
Many such a day did I sit snugly in Mr. Bartlett's
store, attentive to the yarns of Uncle Parker; uncle to
the whole village, by right of seniority, but of Southern


blood, with no kindred in New England. His figure is
before me now, enthroned upon a mackerel-barrel; a
lean old man, of great height, but bent with years, and
twisted into an uncouth shape by seven broken limbs;
furrowed also, and weather-worn, as if every gale, for
the better part of a century, had caught him somewhere
on the sea. He looked like a harbinger of tempest, a
shipmate of the Flying Dutchman. After innumerable
voyages aboard men-of-war and merchant-men, C 1i; .
schooners and chebacco-boats, the old salt had become
master of a handcart, which lie daily trundled about the
vicinity, and sometimes blew his fish-horn through the
streets of Salem. One of Uncle Parker's eyes had been
blown out with gunpowder, and the other did but glim-
mer in its socket. Turning it upward as lie spoke, it
was his delight to tell of cruises against the French, and
battles with his own shipmates, when lie and an antago-
nist used to be seated astride of a sailor's chest, each
fastened down by a spike-nail through his trousers, and
there to fight it out. Sometimes lie expatiated on the
delicious flavor of the hagden, a greasy and goose-like
fowl, which the sailors catch with hook and line on the
Grand Banks. lie dwelt with rapture on an intermina-
ble winter at the Isle of Sables, where lie had gladdened
himself, amid polar snows, with the rum and sugar saved
from the wreck of a West India schooner. And wrath-
fully did he shake his fist, as lie related how a party of
Cape Cod men had robbed him and his companions of
their lawful spoil, and sailed away with every keg of old
Jamaica, leaving him not a drop to drown his sorrow.
Villains they were, and of that wicked brotherhood who
are said to tie lanterns to horses' tails, to mislead the
mariner along the dangerous shores of the Cape.
Even now I seem to see the group of fishermen, with



that old salt in the midst. One fellow sits on the coun-
ter, a second bestrides an oil-barrel, a third lolls at his
length on a parcel of new cod-lines, and another has
planted the tarry seat of his trousers on a heap of salt,
which will shortly be sprinkled over a lot of fish. They
are a likely set of men. Some have voyaged to the East
Indies or the Pacific, and most of them have sailed in
Marblehead schooners to Newfoundland; a few have been
no farther than the Middle Banks, and one or two have
always fished along the shore; but, as Uncle Parker used
to say, they have all been christened in salt water, and
know more than men ever learn in the bushes. A curi-
ous figure, by way of contrast, is a fish-dealer from far-
lp country, listening with eyes wide open to narratives
that might startle Sindhad the sailor. Be it well with
you, my brethren Ye are all gone, some to your graves
ashore, and others to the depths of ocean; but my faith
is strong that ye are happy ; for whenever I behold your
forms, whether in dream or vision, each departed friend
is puffing his long-nine, and a mug of the right black-
strap goes round from lip to lip.
But where was the mermaid in those delightful times ?
At a certain window near the centre of the village ap-
peared a pretty display of gingerbread men and horses,
picture-books and ballads, small fish-hooks, pins, needles,
sugar-plums, and brass thimbles, articles on which the
young fishermen used to expend their money from pure
gallantry. What a picture was Susan behind the coun-
ter! A slender maiden, though the child of rugged
parents, she lad the slimmest of all waists, brown hair
curling on her neck, and a complexion rather pale, except
when the sea-breeze flushed it. A few freckles became
beauty-spots beneath her eyelids. How was it, Susan,
that you talked and acted so carelessly, yet always for the


best, doing whatever was right in your own eyes, and never
once doing wrong in mine, nor shocked a taste that had
been :n.. ili sensitive till now ? And whence had you
that happiest gift, of brightening every topic with an un-
sought gayety, quiet hut irresistible, so that even gloomy
spirits felt your sunshine, and did not shrink from it ?
Nature wrought tle charm. She made you a frank, sim-
ple, kind-hearted, sensible, and mirthful girl. Obeying
nature, you did free things without indelicacy, displayed
a maiden's thoughts to every eye, and proved yourself as
innocent as naked Eve.
It was beautiful to observe, how her simple and
happy nature mingled itself with mine. She kindled a
domestic fire within my heart, and took up her dwell-
ing there, even in that chill and lonesome cavern hung
round with glittering icicles of fancy. She gave me
warmth of feeling, while the influence of my mind made
her contemplative. I taught her to love the moonlight
hour, when the expanse of the encircled bay was smooth
as a great mirror and slept in a transparent shadow;
while beyond Nahant, the wind rippled the dim ocean
into a dreamy brightness, which grew faint afar off, with-
out becoming gloomier. 1 held her hand and pointed
to the long surf wave, as it rolled calmly on the beach, in
an unbroken line of silver; we were silent together, till
its deep and peaceful murmur had swept by us. When
the Sabbath sun shone down into the recesses of the
cliffs, I led the mermaid thither, and told her that those
huge, gray, shattered rocks, and her native sea, that
raged forever like a storm against them, and her own
slender beauty, in so stern a scene, were all combined
into a strain of poetry. But on the Sabbath eve, when
her mother had gone early to bed, and her gentle sister
had smiled and left us, as we sat alone by the quiet hearth,


with household things around, it was her turn to make
me feel that here was a deeper poetry, and that this was
the dearest hour of all. Thus went on our wooing, till
I had shot wild-fowl enough to feather our bridal bed,
and the Daughter of the Sea was mine.
I built a cottage for Susan and myself, and made a
gateway in the form of a Gothic arch, by setting up a
whale's jaw-bones. We bought a heifer with her first
calf, and had a little garden on the hillside, to supply us
with potatoes and green sauce for our fish. Our parlor,
small and neat, was ornamented with our two profiles in
one gilt frame, and with shells and pretty pebbles on the
mantel-piece, selected from the sea's treasury of such
things, on Nahant Beach. On the desk, beneath the
looking-glass, lay the Bible, which I had begun to read
aloud at the Book of Genesis, and the singing-book that
Susan used for her evening psaln. Except the almanac,
we had no other literature. All that I heard of books,
was when an Indian history, or tale of shipwreck, was
sold by a pedler or wandering subscription-man, to some
one in the village, and read -i t...' its owner's nose to
a slumberous auditory. Like my brother fishermen, I
grew into the belief that all human erudition was col-
lected in our pedagogue, whose green spectacles and
solemn phiz, as he passed to his little school-house, amid
a waste of sand, might have gained him a diploma from
any college in New England. In truth I dreaded him.
When our children were old enough to claim his care,
you remember, Susan, how I frowned, though you were
pleased, at this learned man's encomiums on their pro-
ficiency. I feared to trust them even with the alphabet;
it was the key to a fatal treasure.
But I loved to lead them by their little hands along
the beach, and point to nature in the vast and the minute,


the sky, the sea, the green earth, the pebbles, and the
shells. Then did I discourse of the mighty works and
coextensive goodness of the Deity, with the simple wis-
dom of a man whose mind had profited by lonely days
upon the deep, and his heart by the strong and pure
affections of his evening home. Sometimes my voice
lost itself in a tremulous depth ; for I felt His eye upon
me as I spoke. Once, while my wife and all of us were
gazing at ourselves, in the mirror left by the tide in a
hollow of the sand, I pointed to the pictured heaven
below, and bade her observe how religion was strewn
everywhere in our path; since even a casual pool of
water recalled the idea of that home whither we were
t ... II.... to rest forever with our children. Suddenly,
your image, Susan, and all the little faces made up of
yours and mine, seemed to fade away and vanish around
me, leaving a pale visage like my own of former days
within the frame of a large looking-glass. Strange illu-
My life glided on, the past appearing to mingle with
the present and absorb the future, till the whole lies
before me at a glance. My manhood has long been
waning with a stanch decay; my earlier contemporaries,
after lives of unbroken health, are all at rest, without
having known the weariness of later age; and now, with
a wrinkled forehead and thin white hair as badges of
my dignity, I have become the patriarch, the Uncle of the
village. 1 love that name; it widens the circle of my
sympathies; it joins all the youthful to my household, in
the kindred of affection.
Like Uncle Parker, whose rheumatic bones were dashed
against Egg Rock, full forty years ago, I am a spinner
of long yarns. Seated on the gunwale of a dory, or on
the sunny side of a boat-house, where the warmth is



grateful to my limbs, or by my own hearth, when a friend
or two are there, I overflow with talk, and yet am never
tedious. With a broken voice I give utterance to much
wisdom. Such, Ieaven be praised! is the vigor of my
faculties, that many a forgotten usage, and traditions
ancient in my youth, and early adventures of myself or
others, hitherto effaced by things more recent, acquire
new distinctness in my memory. I remember the happy
days when the haddock were more numerous on all the
fishing-grounds than sculpins in the surf; when the d.Lp-
water cod swam close in shore, and the dogfish, with his
poisonous horn, had not learned to take the hook. I can
number every equinoctial storm, in which the sea has
overwhelmed the street, flooded the cellars of the village,
and hissed upon our kitchen hearth. I give the history
of the great whale that was landed on Whale Beach, and
whose jaws, being now my gateway, will last for ages
after my coffin shall have passed beneath them. Thence
it is an easy digression to the halibut, scarcely smaller
than the whale, which ran out six cod-lines, and hauled
my dory to the mouth of Boston Harbor, before I could
touch him with the gaff.
If melancholy accidents be the theme of conversation,
I tell how a friend of mine was taken out of his boat by
an enormous shark; and the sad, true tale of a young
man on the eve of marriage, who had been nine days
missing, when his drowned body floated into the very
pathway, on Marblehead Neck, that had often led him
to tie dwelling of his bride; as if the dripping corpse
would have come where the mourner was. With such
awful fidelity did that lover return to fulfil his vows!
Another favorite story is of a crazy maiden, who con-
versed with angels and had the gift of prophecy, and
whom all the village loved and pitied, though she went


from door to door accusing us of sin, exhorting to
repentance, and ti.i:. ii;,. our destruction by flood or
earthquake. If the young men boast their knowledge
of the ledges and sunken rocks, I speak of pilots, who
knew the wind by its scent and the wave by its taste,
and could have steered blindfold to any port between
Boston and Mount Desert, guided only by the role of
the shore ; the peculiar sound of the surf on each island,
beach, and line of rocks, along the coast. Thus do I
talk, and all my auditors grow wise, while they deem it
I recollect no happier portion of my life, than this, my
calm old age. It is like lhe sunny and sheltered slope of
a valley, where, late in lhe autumn, the grass is greener
than in August, and intermixed with golden dandelions,
that have not been seen till now, since the first warmth
of the year. But with me, the verdure and the flowers
are not frostbitten in the midst of winter. A playfulness
has revisited my mind ; a sympathy with the young and
gay; an unpainful interest in tile business of others; a
light and wandering curiosity; arising, perhaps, from the
sense that my toil oln earth is ended, and the brief hour
till bedtime may be spent in play. Still, I have fancied
that there is a depth of feeling and reflection, under this
superficial levity, peculiar to one who has lived long, and
is soon to die.
Show me anything that would make an infant smile,
and you shall behold a gleamn of mirth over the hoary
ruin of my visage. I can spend a pleasant hour in the
sun, watching the sports of the village children, on the
edge of the surf; now they chase the retreating wave far
down over the wet sand ; now it steals softly up to kiss
their naked feet; now it comes onward with threatening
front, and roars after the laughing crew, as they scamper



beyond its reach. Why should not an old man be merry
too, when the great sea is at play with those little chil-
dren ? I delight, also, to follow in the wake of a pleasure-
party of young men and girls, ii .1ll., along the beach
after all early supper at the Point. Here, with hand-
kerchiefs at nose, they bend over a heap of eel-grass, en-
tangled in which is a dead skate, so oddly accoutred with
two legs and a long tail, that they mistake hinm for a
drowned animal. A few steps farther, the ladies scream,
and the gentlemen make ready to protect them against a
young shark of the dogfish kind, rolling with a life-like
motion in the tide that has thrown him up. Next, they
are smith with wonder at the black shells of a wagon-load
of live lobsters, packed in rock-weed for the country mar-
ket. And when they reach the fleet of dories, just hauled
ashore after the day's -i.;.... how do I laugh in my sleeve,
and sometimes roar outright, at the simplicity of these
young folks and the sly humor of the fishermen! In
winter, when our village is thrown into a bustle by the
arrival of perhaps a score of country dealers, bargaining
for frozen fish, to be transported hundreds of miles, and
eaten fresh in Vermont or Canada, I an a pleased but
idle spectator in the throng. For I launch my boat no
When the shore was solitary, I have found a pleasure
that seemed even to exalt my mind, in observing the
sports or contentions of two gulls, as they wheeled and
hovered about each other, with hoarse screams, one mo-
ment flapping on the foam of the wave, and then soaring
aloft, till their white bosoms melted into the upper sun-
shine. In the calm of the summer sunset, I drag my
aged limbs, with a little ostentation of activity, because I
an so old, up to the rocky brow of the hill. There I see
the white sails of many a vessel, outward bound or home-


ward from afar, and the black trail of a vapor behind the
eastern steamboat; there, too, is the sun, going down,
but not in gloom, and there the illimitable ocean mingling
with the sky, to remind me of eternity.
But sweetest of all is the hour of cheerful musing and
pleasant talk, that comes between the dusk and the lighted
candle, by my glowing fireside. And never, even on the
first Thanksgiving night, when Susan and I sat alone with
our hopes, nor the second, when a stranger had been sent
to gladden us, and be the visible image of our affection,
did I feel such joy as now. All that belong to me are
here; Death has taken none, nor Disease kept them
away, nor Strife divided them from their parents or each
other; with neither poverty nor riches to disturb them,
nor the misery of desires beyond their lot, they have kept
New I '.1 ,, .1 s festival round the patriarch's board. For
I am a patriarch Here I sit among my descendants, in
my old arm-chair and immemorial corner, while the fire-
light throws an appropriate glory round my venerable
frame. Susan My children! Something whispers me,
that this happiest hour must be the final one, and that
nothing remains but lo bless you all, and depart with a
treasure of recollected joys to heaven. Will you meet
me there ? Alas your figures grow indistinct, fading
into pictures on the air, and now to fainter outlines, while
the fire is glimmering on the walls of a familiar room, and
shows the book that I flung down, and the sheet that I
left half written, some fifty years ago. I lift my eyes to
the looking-glass, and perceive myself alone, unless those
be the mermaid's features, retiring into tlie depths of the
mirror, with a tender and melancholy smile.
Alh! one feels a chillness, not bodily, but about the
heart, and, moreover, a foolish dread of looking behind
him, after these pastimes. I can imagine precisely how


a magician would sit down in gloom and terror, after
dismissing the shadows that had personated dead or dis-
tant people, and stripping his cavern of the unreal splendor
which had changed it to a palace. And now for a moral
to my revery. Shall it be, that, since fancy can create
so bright a dream of happiness, it were better to dream
on from youth to age, than to awake and strive doubt-
fully for something real! 0, the slight tissue of a dream
can no more preserve us from the stern reality of misfor-
tune, than a robe of cobweb could repel the wintry blast.
Be this the moral, then. In chaste and warm affections,
humble wishes, and honest toil for some useful end, there
is health for the mind, and quiet for the heart, the pros-
pect of a happy life, and the fairest hope of heaven.

voL. II. 5 o


"'- IE September night, a family had gathered
..muid their hearth and piled it high with tile
.-i .l .Iiift-wood of mountain streams, the dry cones
of the pine, and the splintered rnins of great trees, that
had come crashing down the precipice. Up the chimney
roared the fire, and brightened the room with its broad
blaze. The faces of the father and mother had a sober
gladness; the children laughed; the eldest daughter was
the image of Happiness at seventeen; and the aged
grandmother, who sat knitting in the warmest place, was
the image of Happiness grown old. They had found
the herb, heart's-ease," in the bleakest spot of all
New England. This family were situated in the Notch
of the White Hills, where the wind was sharp through-
out the year, and pitilessly cold in the winter, giving
their cottage all its fresh inclemency, before it descended
on the valley of the Saco. They dwelt in a cold spot
and a dangerous one; for a mountain towered above
their heads, so steep, that the stones would often rumble
down its sides, and startle them at midnight.
The daughter had just uttered some simple jest, that
filled them all with mirth, when the wind came il .......
thie Notch and seemed to pause before their cottage, -
rattling the door, with a sound of wailing and lamnenta-

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