Gordier, a young man of the Island of Jersey, was paying his addresses to
a young lady of Guernsey. He visited the latter island, intending to be
married. He disappeared on his way from the beach to his mistress's
residence, and was afterwards found dead in a cavity of the rocks. After
a time, Galliard, a merchant of Guernsey, paid his addresses to the young
lady; but she always felt a strong, unaccountable antipathy to him. He
presented her with a beautiful trinket. The mother of Gordier, chancing
to see this trinket, recognized it as having been bought by her dead son
as a present for his mistress. She expired on learning this; and
Galliard, being suspected of the murder, committed suicide.
The cure of Montreux in Switzerland, ninety-six years old, still vigorous
in mind and body, and able to preach. He had a twin-brother, also a
preacher, and the exact likeness of himself. Sometimes strangers have
beheld a white-haired, venerable, clerical personage, nearly a century
old; and, upon riding a few miles farther, have been astonished to meet
again this white-haired, venerable, century-old personage.
When the body of Lord Mohun (killed in a duel) was carried home,
bleeding, to his house, Lady Mohun was very angry because it was "flung
upon the best bed."
A prophecy, somewhat in the style of Swift's about Partridge, but
embracing various events and personages.
An incident that befell Dr. Harris, while a Junior at college. Being in
great want of money to buy shirts or other necessaries, and not knowing
how to obtain it, he set out on a walk from Cambridge to Boston. On the
way, he cut a stick, and, after walking a short distance, perceived that
something had become attached to the end of it. It proved to be a gold
ring, with the motto, "God speed thee, friend."
Brobdingnag lay on the northwest coast of the American continent.
People with false hair and other artifices may be supposed to deceive
Death himself; so that he does not know when their hour is come.
Bees are sometimes drowned (or suffocated) in the honey which they
collect. So some writers are lost in their collected learning.
Advice of Lady Pepperell's father on her marriage,--never to work one
moment after Saturday sunset,--never to lay down her knitting except in
the middle of the needle,--always to rise with the sun,--to pass an hour
daily with the housekeeper,--to visit every room daily from garret to
cellar,--to attend herself to the brewing of beer and the baking of
bread,--and to instruct every member of the family in their religious
duties.
Service of plate, presented by the city of London to Sir William
Pepperell, together with a table of solid silver. The table very narrow,
but long; the articles of plate numerous, but of small dimensions,--the
tureen not holding more than three pints. At the close of the
Revolution, when the Pepperell and Sparhawk property was confiscated,
this plate was sent to the grandson of Sir William, in London. It was so
valuable, that Sheriff Moulton of old York, with six well-armed men,
accompanied it to Boston. Pepperell's only daughter married Colonel
Sparhawk, a fine gentleman of the day. Andrew Pepperell, the son, was
rejected by a young lady (afterwards the mother of Mrs. General Knox), to
whom he was on the point of marriage, as being addicted to low company
and low pleasures. The lover, two days afterwards, in the streets of
Portsmouth, was sun-struck, and fell down dead. Sir William had built an
elegant house for his son and his intended wife; but after the death of
the former he never entered it. He lost his cheerfulness and social
qualities, and gave up intercourse with people, except on business. Very
anxious to secure his property to his descendants by the provisions of
his will, which was drawn up by Judge Sewall, then a young lawyer. Yet
the Judge lived to see two of Sir William's grandchildren so reduced that
they were to have been numbered among the town's poor, and were only
rescued from this fate by private charity.
The arms and crest of the Pepperell family were displayed over the door
of every room in Sir William's house. In Colonel Sparhawk's house there
were forty portraits, most of them in full length. The house built for
Sir William's son was occupied as barracks during the Revolution, and
much injured. A few years after the peace, it was blown down by a
violent tempest, and finally no vestige of it was left, but there
remained only a summer-house and the family tomb.
At Sir William's death, his mansion was hung with black, while the body
lay in state for a week. All the Sparhawk portraits were covered with
black crape, and the family pew was draped with black. Two oxen were
roasted, and liquid hospitality dispensed in proportion.
Old lady's dress seventy or eighty years ago. Brown brocade gown, with a
nice lawn handkerchief and apron,--short sleeves, with a little ruffle,
just below the elbow,--black mittens,--a lawn cap, with rich lace
border,--a black velvet hood on the back of the head, tied with black
ribbon under the chin. She sat in an old-fashioned easy-chair, in a
small, low parlor,--the wainscot painted entirely black, and the walls
hung with a dark velvet paper.
A table, stationary ever since the house was built, extending the whole
length of a room. One end was raised two steps higher than the rest.
The Lady Ursula, an early Colonial heroine, was wont to dine at the upper
end, while her servants sat below. This was in the kitchen. An old
garden and summer-house, and roses, currant-bushes, and tulips, which
Lady Ursula had brought from Grondale Abbey in Old England. Although a
hundred and fifty years before, and though their roots were propagated
all over the country, they were still flourishing in the original garden.
This Lady Ursula was the daughter of Lord Thomas Cutts of Grondale Abbey
in England. She had been in love with an officer named Fowler, who was
supposed to have been slain in battle. After the death of her father and
mother, Lady Ursula came to Kittery, bringing twenty men-servants and
several women. After a time, a letter arrived from her lover, who was
not killed, but merely a prisoner to the French. He announced his
purpose to come to America, where he would arrive in October. A few days
after the letter came, she went out in a low carriage to visit her
work-people, and was blessing the food for their luncheon, when she fell
dead, struck by an Indian tomahawk, as did all the rest save one. They
were buried where the massacre took place, and a stone was erected, which
(possibly) still remains. The lady's family had a grant from Sir
Ferdinando Gorges of the territory thereabout, and her brother had
likewise come over and settled in the vicinity. I believe very little of
this story. Long afterwards, at about the commencement of the
Revolution, a descendant of Fowler came from England, and applied to the
Judge of Probate to search the records for a will, supposed to have been
made by Lady Ursula in favor of her lover as soon as she heard of his
existence. In the mean time the estate had been sold to Colonel Whipple.
No will could be found. (Lady Ursula was old Mrs. Cutts, widow of
President Cutts.)
The mode of living of Lady Ursula's brother in Kittery. A drawbridge to
the house, which was raised every evening, and lowered in the morning,
for the laborers and the family to pass out. They kept thirty cows, a
hundred sheep, and several horses. The house spacious,--one room large
enough to contain forty or fifty guests. Two silver branches for
candles,--the walls ornamented with paintings and needlework. The floors
were daily rubbed with wax, and shone like a mahogany table. A domestic
chaplain, who said prayers every morning and evening in a small apartment
called the chapel. Also a steward and butler. The family attended the
Episcopal Church at Christmas, Easter, and Good Friday, and gave a grand
entertainment once a year.
Madam Cutts, at the last of these entertainments, wore a black damask
gown, and cuffs with double lace ruffles, velvet shoes, blue silk
stockings, white and silver stomacher. The daughter and granddaughters
in rich brocades and yellow satin. Old Major Cutts in brown velvet,
laced with gold, and a large wig. The parson in his silk cassock, and
his helpmate in brown damask. Old General Atkinson in scarlet velvet,
and his wife and daughters in white damask. The Governor in black
velvet, and his lady in crimson tabby trimmed with silver. The ladies
wore bell-hoops, high-heeled shoes, paste buckles, silk stockings, and
enormously high head-dresses, with lappets of Brussels lace hanging
thence to the waist.
Among the eatables, a silver tub of the capacity of four gallons, holding
a pyramid of pancakes powdered with white sugar.
The date assigned to all this about 1690.
What is the price of a day's labor in Lapland, where the sun never sets
for six months?
Miss Asphyxia Davis!
A life, generally of a grave hue, may be said to be embroidered with
occasional sports and fantasies.
A father confessor,--his reflections on character, and the contrast of
the inward man with the outward, as he looks around on his congregation,
all whose secret sins are known to him.
A person with an ice-cold hand,--his right hand, which people ever
afterwards remember when once they have grasped it.
A stove possessed by a Devil.
June 1st, 1842.--One of my chief amusements is to see the boys sail their
miniature vessels on the Frog Pond. There is a great variety of shipping
owned among the young people, and they appear to have a considerable
knowledge of the art of managing vessels. There is a full-rigged
man-of-war, with, I believe, every spar, rope, and sail, that sometimes
makes its appearance; and, when on a voyage across the pond, it so
identically resembles a great ship, except in size, that it has the
effect of a picture. All its motions,--its tossing up and down on the
small waves, and its sinking and rising in a calm swell, its heeling to
the breeze,--the whole effect, in short, is that of a real ship at sea;
while, moreover, there is something that kindles the imagination more
than the reality would do. If we see a real, great ship, the mind grasps
and possesses, within its real clutch, all that there is of it; while
here the mimic ship is the representation of an ideal one, and so gives
us a more imaginative pleasure. There are many schooners that ply to and
fro on the pond, and pilot-boats, all perfectly rigged. I saw a race,
the other day, between the ship above mentioned and a pilot-boat, in
which the latter came off conqueror. The boys appear to be well
acquainted with all the ropes and sails, and can call them by their
nautical names. One of the owners of the vessels remains on one side of
the pond, and the other on the opposite side, and so they send the little
bark to and fro, like merchants of different countries, consigning their
vessels to one another.
Generally, when any vessel is on the pond, there are full-grown
spectators, who look on with as much interest as the boys themselves.
Towards sunset, this is especially the case: for then are seen young
girls and their lovers; mothers, with their little boys in hand;
schoolgirls, beating hoops round about, and occasionally running to the
side of the pond; rough tars, or perhaps masters or young mates of
vessels, who make remarks about the miniature shipping, and occasionally
give professional advice to the navigators; visitors from the country;
gloved and caned young gentlemen;--in short, everybody stops to take a
look. In the mean time; dogs are continually plunging into the pond, and
swimming about, with noses pointed upward, and snatching at floating
chips; then, emerging, they shake themselves, scattering a horizontal
shower on the clean gowns of ladies and trousers of gentlemen; then
scamper to and fro on the grass, with joyous barks.
Some boys cast off lines of twine with pin-hooks, and perhaps pull out a
horned-pout,--that being, I think, the only kind of fish that inhabits
the Frog Pond.
The ship-of-war above mentioned is about three feet from stem to stern,
or possibly a few inches more. This, if I mistake not, was the size of a
ship-of-the-line in the navy of Liliput.
Fancy pictures of familiar places which one has never been in, as the
green-room of a theatre, etc.
The famous characters of history,--to imagine their spirits now extant on
earth, in the guise of various public or private personages.
The case quoted in Combe's Physiology of a young man of great talents and
profound knowledge of chemistry, who had in view some new discovery of
importance. In order to put his mind into the highest possible activity,
he shut himself up for several successive days, and used various methods
of excitement. He had a singing-girl, he drank spirits, smelled,
penetrating odors, sprinkled Cologne-water round the room, etc., etc.
Eight days thus passed, when he was seized with a fit of frenzy which
terminated in mania.
Flesh and Blood,--a firm of butchers.
Miss Polly Syllable, a schoolmistress.
Mankind are earthen jugs with spirits in them.
A spendthrift,--in one sense he has his money's worth by the purchase of
large lots of repentance and other dolorous commodities.
To symbolize moral or spiritual disease by disease of the body; as thus,
--when a person committed any sin, it might appear in some form on the
body,--this to be wrought out.
"Shrieking fish," a strange idea of Leigh Hunt.
In my museum, all the ducal rings that have been thrown into the
Adriatic.
An association of literary men in the other world,--or dialogues of the
dead, or something of that kind.
Imaginary diseases to be cured by impossible remedies,--as a dose of the
Grand Elixir, in the yolk of a Phoenix's egg. The disease may be either
moral or physical.
A physician for the cure of moral diseases.
To point out the moral slavery of one who deems himself a free man.
A stray leaf from the book of fate, picked up in the street.
Concord, August 5th.--A rainy day,--a rainy day. I am commanded to take
pen in hand, and I am therefore banished to the little ten-foot-square
apartment misnamed my study; but perhaps the dismalness of the day and
the dulness of my solitude will be the prominent characteristics of what
I write. And what is there to write about? Happiness has no succession
of events, because it is a part of eternity; and we have been living in
eternity ever since we came to this old manse. Like Enoch, we seem to
have been translated to the other state of being, without having passed
through death. Our spirits must have flitted away unconsciously, and we
can only perceive that we have cast off our mortal part by the more real
and earnest life of our souls. Externally, our Paradise has very much
the aspect of a pleasant old domicile on earth. This antique house--for
it looks antique, though it was created by Providence expressly for our
use, and at the precise time when we wanted it--stands behind a noble
avenue of balm-of-Gilead trees; and when we chance to observe a passing
traveller through the sunshine and the shadow of this long avenue, his
figure appears too dim and remote to disturb the sense of blissful
seclusion. Few, indeed, are the mortals who venture within our sacred
precincts. George Prescott, who has not yet grown earthly enough, I
suppose, to be debarred from occasional visits to Paradise, comes daily
to bring three pints of milk from some ambrosial cow; occasionally, also,
he makes an offering of mortal flowers. Mr. Emerson comes sometimes, and
has been feasted on our nectar and ambrosia. Mr. Thoreau has twice
listened to the music of the spheres, which, for our private convenience,
we have packed into a musical-box. E. H------, who is much more at home
among spirits than among fleshly bodies, came hither a few times merely
to welcome us to the ethereal world; but latterly she has vanished into
some other region of infinite space. One rash mortal, on the second
Sunday after our arrival, obtruded himself upon us in a gig. There have
since been three or four callers, who preposterously think that the
courtesies of the lower world are to be responded to by people whose home
is in Paradise. I must not forget to mention that the butcher comes
twice or thrice a week; and we have so far improved upon the custom of
Adam and Eve, that we generally furnish forth our feasts with portions of
some delicate calf or lamb, whose unspotted innocence entitles them to
the happiness of becoming our sustenance. Would that I were permitted to
record the celestial dainties that kind Heaven provided for us on the
first day of our arrival! Never, surely, was such food heard of on
earth,--at least, not by me. Well, the above-mentioned persons are
nearly all that have entered into the hallowed shade of our avenue;
except, indeed, a certain sinner who came to bargain for the grass in our
orchard, and another who came with a new cistern. For it is one of the
drawbacks upon our Eden that it contains no water fit either to drink or
to bathe in; so that the showers have become, in good truth, a godsend.
I wonder why Providence does not cause a clear, cold fountain to bubble
up at our doorstep; methinks it would not be unreasonable to pray for
such a favor. At present we are under the ridiculous necessity of
sending to the outer world for water. Only imagine Adam trudging out of
Paradise with a bucket in each hand, to get water to drink, or for Eve to
bathe in! Intolerable! (though our stout handmaiden really fetches our
water.) In other respects Providence has treated us pretty tolerably
well; but here I shall expect something further to be done. Also, in the
way of future favors, a kitten would be very acceptable. Animals
(except, perhaps, a pig) seem never out of place, even in the most
paradisiacal spheres. And, by the way, a young colt comes up our avenue,
now and then, to crop the seldom-trodden herbage; and so does a company
of cows, whose sweet breath well repays us for the food which they
obtain. There are likewise a few hens, whose quiet cluck is heard
pleasantly about the house. A black dog sometimes stands at the farther
extremity of the, avenue, and looks wistfully hitherward; but when I
whistle to him, he puts his tail between his legs, and trots away.
Foolish dog! if he had more faith, he should have bones enough.
Saturday, August 6th.--Still a dull day, threatening rain, yet without
energy of character enough to rain outright. However, yesterday there
were showers enough to supply us well with their beneficent outpouring.
As to the new cistern, it seems to be bewitched; for, while the spout
pours into it like a cataract, it still remains almost empty. I wonder
where Mr. Hosmer got it; perhaps from Tantalus, under the eaves of whose
palace it must formerly have stood; for, like his drinking-cup in Hades,
it has the property of filling itself forever, and never being full.
After breakfast I took my fishing-rod, and went down through our orchard
to the river-side; but as three or four boys were already in possession
of the best spots along the shore, I did not fish. This river of ours is
the most sluggish stream that I ever was acquainted with. I had spent
three weeks by its side, and swam across it every day, before I could
determine which way its current ran; and then I was compelled to decide
the question by the testimony of others, and not by my own observation.
Owing to this torpor of the stream, it has nowhere a bright, pebbly
shore, nor is there so much as a narrow strip of glistening sand in any
part of its course; but it slumbers along between broad meadows, or
kisses the tangled grass of mowing-fields and pastures, or bathes the
overhanging boughs of elder-bushes and other waterloving plants. Flags
and rushes grow along its shallow margin. The yellow water-lily spreads
its broad flat leaves upon its surface; and the fragrant white pond-lily
occurs in many favored spots,--generally selecting a situation just so
far from the river's brink that it cannot be grasped except at the hazard
of plunging in. But thanks be to the beautiful flower for growing at any
rate. It is a marvel whence it derives its loveliness and perfume,
sprouting as it does from the black mud over which the river sleeps, and
from which the yellow lily likewise draws its unclean life and noisome
odor. So it is with many people in this world; the same soil and
circumstances may produce the good and beautiful, and the wicked and
ugly. Some have the faculty of assimilating to themselves only what is
evil, and so they become as noisome as the yellow water-lily. Some
assimilate none but good influences, and their emblem is the fragrant and
spotless pond-lily, whose very breath is a blessing to all the region
round about. . . . . Among the productions of the river's margin, I must
not forget the pickerel-weed, which grows just on the edge of the water,
and shoots up a long stalk crowned with a blue spire, from among large
green leaves. Both the flower and the leaves look well in a vase with
pond-lilies, and relieve the unvaried whiteness of the latter; and, being
all alike children of the waters, they are perfectly in keeping with one
another. . . . .
I bathe once, and often twice, a day in our river; but one dip into the
salt sea would be worth more than a whole week's soaking in such a
lifeless tide. I have read of a river somewhere (whether it be in
classic regions or among our Western Indians I know not) which seemed to
dissolve and steal away the vigor of those who bathed in it. Perhaps our
stream will be found to have this property. Its water, however, is
pleasant in its immediate effect, being as soft as milk, and always
warmer than the air. Its hue has a slight tinge of gold, and my limbs,
when I behold them through its medium, look tawny. I am not aware that
the inhabitants of Concord resemble their native river in any of their
moral characteristics. Their forefathers, certainly, seem to have had
the energy and impetus of a mountain torrent, rather than the torpor of
this listless stream,--as it was proved by the blood with which they
stained their river of Peace. It is said there are plenty of fish in it;
but my most important captures hitherto have been a mud-turtle and an
enormous eel. The former made his escape to his native element,--the
latter we ate; and truly he had the taste of the whole river in his
flesh, with a very prominent flavor of mud. On the whole, Concord River
is no great favorite of mine; but I am glad to have any river at all so
near at hand, it being just at the bottom of our orchard. Neither is it
without a degree and kind of picturesqueness, both in its nearness and in
the distance, when a blue gleam from its surface, among the green meadows
and woods, seems like an open eye in Earth's countenance. Pleasant it
is, too, to behold a little flat-bottomed skiff gliding over its bosom,
which yields lazily to the stroke of the paddle, and allows the boat to
go against its current almost as freely as with it. Pleasant, too, to
watch an angler, as he strays along the brink, sometimes sheltering
himself behind a tuft of bushes, and trailing his line along the water,
in hopes to catch a pickerel. But, taking the river for all in all, I
can find nothing more fit to compare it with than one of the half-torpid
earthworms which I dig up for bait. The worm is sluggish, and so is the
river,--the river is muddy, and so is the worm. You hardly know whether
either of them be alive or dead; but still, in the course of time, they
both manage to creep away. The best aspect of the Concord is when there
is a northwestern breeze curling its surface, in a bright, sunshiny day.
It then assumes a vivacity not its own. Moonlight, also, gives it
beauty, as it does to all scenery of earth or water.
Sunday, August 7th.--At sunset last evening I ascended the hill-top
opposite our house; and, looking downward at the long extent of the
river, it struck me that I had done it some injustice in my remarks.
Perhaps, like other gentle and quiet characters, it will be better
appreciated the longer I am acquainted with it. Certainly, as I beheld
it then, it was one of the loveliest features in a scene of great rural
beauty. It was visible through a course of two or three miles, sweeping
in a semicircle round the hill on which I stood, and being the central
line of a broad vale on either side. At a distance, it looked like a
strip of sky set into the earth, which it so etherealized and idealized
that it seemed akin to the upper regions. Nearer the base of the hill, I
could discern the shadows of every tree and rock, imaged with a
distinctness that made them even more charming than the reality; because,
knowing them to be unsuhstantial, they assumed the ideality which the
soul always craves in the contemplation of earthly beauty. All the sky,
too, and the rich clouds of sunset, were reflected in the peaceful bosom
of the river; and surely, if its bosom can give back such an adequate
reflection of heaven, it cannot be so gross and impure as I described it
yesterday. Or, if so, it shall be a symbol to me that even a human
breast, which may appear least spiritual in some aspects, may still have
the capability of reflecting an infinite heaven in its depths, and
therefore of enjoying it. It is a comfortable thought, that the smallest
and most turbid mud-puddle can contain its own picture of heaven. Let us
remember this, when we feel inclined to deny all spiritual life to some
people, in whom, nevertheless, our Father may perhaps see the image of
His face. This dull river has a deep religion of its own: so, let us
trust, has the dullest human soul, though, perhaps, unconsciously.
The scenery of Concord, as I beheld it from the summit of the hill, has
no very marked characteristics, but has a great deal of quiet beauty, in
keeping with the river. There are broad and peaceful meadows, which, I
think, are among the most satisfying objects in natural scenery. The
heart reposes on them with a feeling that few things else can give,
because almost all other objects are abrupt and clearly defined; but a
meadow stretches out like a small infinity, yet with a secure homeliness
which we do not find either in an expanse of water or of air. The hills
which border these meadows are wide swells of land, or long and gradual
ridges, some of them densely covered with wood. The white village, at a
distance on the left, appears to be embosomed among wooded hills. The
verdure of the country is much more perfect than is usual at this season
of the year, when the autumnal hue has generally made considerable
progress over trees and grass. Last evening, after the copious showers
of the preceding two days, it was worthy of early June, or, indeed, of a
world just created. Had I not then been alone, I should have had a far
deeper sense of beauty, for I should have looked through the medium of
another spirit. Along the horizon there were masses of those deep clouds
in which the fancy may see images of all things that ever existed or were
dreamed of. Over our old manse, of which I could catch but a glimpse
among its embowering trees, appeared the immensely gigantic figure of a
hound, crouching down with head erect, as if keeping watchful guard while
the master of the mansion was away. . . . . How sweet it was to draw near
my own home, after having lived homeless in the world so long! . . . .
With thoughts like these, I descended the hill, and clambered over the
stone-wall, and crossed the road, and passed up our avenue, while the
quaint old house put on an aspect of welcome.
Monday, August 8th.--I wish I could give a description of our house, for
it really has a character of its own, which is more than can be said of
most edifices in these days. It is two stories high, with a third story
of attic chambers in the gable-roof. When I first visited it, early in
June, it looked pretty much as it did during the old clergyman's
lifetime, showing all the dust and disarray that might be supposed to
have gathered about him in the course of sixty years of occupancy. The
rooms seemed never to have been painted; at all events, the walls and
panels, as well as the huge cross-beams, had a venerable and most dismal
tinge of brown. The furniture consisted of high-backed, short-legged,
rheumatic chairs, small, old tables, bedsteads with lofty posts, stately
chests of drawers, looking-glasses in antique black frames, all of which
were probably fashionable in the days of Dr. Ripley's predecessor. It
required some energy of imagination to conceive the idea of transforming
this ancient edifice into a comfortable modern residence. However, it
has been successfully accomplished. The old Doctor's sleeping-apartment,
which was the front room on the ground-floor, we have converted into a
parlor; and by the aid of cheerful paint and paper, a gladsome carpet,
pictures and engravings, new furniture, bijouterie, and a daily supply of
flowers, it has become one of the prettiest and pleasantest rooms in the
whole world. The shade of our departed host will never haunt it; for its
aspect has been changed as completely as the scenery of a theatre.
Probably the ghost gave one peep into it, uttered a groan, and vanished
forever. The opposite room has been metamorphosed into a store-room.
Through the house, both in the first and second story, runs a spacious
hall or entry, occupying more space than is usually devoted to such a
purpose in modern times. This feature contributes to give the whole
house an airy, roomy, and convenient appearance; we can breathe the freer
by the aid of the broad passageway. The front door of the hall looks up
the stately avenue, which I have already mentioned; and the opposite door
opens into the orchard, through which a path descends to the river. In
the second story we have at present fitted up three rooms,--one being our
own chamber, and the opposite one a guest-chamber, which contains the
most presentable of the old Doctor's ante-Revolutionary furniture. After
all, the moderns have invented nothing better, as chamber furniture, than
these chests of drawers, which stand on four slender legs, and rear an
absolute tower of mahogany to the ceiling, the whole terminating in a
fantastically carved summit. Such a venerable structure adorns our
guest-chamber. In the rear of the house is the little room which I call
my study, and which, in its day, has witnessed the intellectual labors of
better students than myself. It contains, with some additions and
alterations, the furniture of my bachelor-room in Boston; but there is a
happier disposal of things now. There is a little vase of flowers on one
of the bookcases, and a larger bronze vase of graceful ferns that
surmounts the bureau. In size the room is just what it ought to be; for
I never could compress my thoughts sufficiently to write in a very
spacious room. It has three windows, two of which are shaded by a large
and beautiful willow-tree, which sweeps against the overhanging eaves.
On this side we have a view into the orchard, and, beyond, a glimpse of
the river. The other window is the one from which Mr. Emerson, the
predecessor of Dr. Ripley, beheld the first fight of the Revolution,--
which he might well do, as the British troops were drawn up within a
hundred yards of the house; and on looking forth just now, I could still
perceive the western abutments of the old bridge, the passage of which
was contested. The new monument is visible from base to summit.
Notwithstanding all we have done to modernize the old place, we seem
scarcely to have disturbed its air of antiquity. It is evident that
other wedded pairs have spent their honeymoons here, that children have
been born here, and people have grown old and died in these rooms,
although for our behoof the same apartments have consented to look
cheerful once again. Then there are dark closets, and strange nooks and
corners, where the ghosts of former occupants might hide themselves in
the daytime, and stalk forth when night conceals all our sacrilegious
improvements. We have seen no apparitions as yet; but we hear strange
noises, especially in the kitchen, and last night, while sitting in the
parlor, we heard a thumping and pounding as of somebody at work in my
study. Nay, if I mistake not (for I was half asleep), there was a sound
as of some person crumpling paper in his hand in our very bedchamber.
This must have been old Dr. Ripley with one of his sermons. There is a
whole chest of them in the garret; but he need have no apprehensions of
our disturbing them. I never saw the old patriarch myself, which I
regret, as I should have been glad to associate his venerable figure at
ninety years of age with the house in which he dwelt.
Externally the house presents the same appearance as in the Doctor's day.
It had once a coat of white paint; but the storms and sunshine of many
years have almost obliterated it, and produced a sober, grayish hue,
which entirely suits the antique form of the structure. To repaint its
reverend face would be a real sacrilege. It would look like old Dr.
Ripley in a brown wig. I hardly know why it is that our cheerful and
lightsome repairs and improvements in the interior of the house seem to
be in perfectly good taste, though the heavy old beams and high
wainscoting of the walls speak of ages gone by. But so it is. The
cheerful paper-hangings have the air of belonging to the old walls; and
such modernisms as astral lamps, card-tables, gilded Cologne-bottles,
silver taper-stands, and bronze and alabaster flower-vases do not seem at
all impertinent. It is thus that an aged man may keep his heart warm for
new things and new friends, and often furnish himself anew with ideas;
though it would not be graceful for him to attempt to suit his exterior
to the passing fashions of the day.
