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pew with a face as complacent as that of the cat that has eaten the canary。 

Presently   the   deacons   appeal   to   her   for   information   touching   the   good 

doctor。 Mistress Shurtleff sweetly tells them that the good doctor was in 

his study when she left home。 There he is found; indeed; and released from 



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durance; begging the deacons to keep his mortification secret; to 〃give it 

an understanding; but no tongue。〃 Such was the discipline undergone by 

the worthy Dr。 Shurtleff on his earthly pilgrimage。 A portrait of this patient 

mannow   a   saint   somewherehangs   in   the   rooms   of   the   New   England 

Historical   and   Genealogical   Society   in   Boston。 There   he   can   be   seen   in 

surplice and bands; with his lamblike; apostolic face looking down upon 

the heavy antiquarian labors of his busy descendants。 

     Whether   or   not   a   man   is   to   be   classed   as   eccentric   who   vanishes 

without     rhyme    or  reason    on   his  wedding…night      is  a  query   left  to  the 

reader's decision。 We   seem  to   have struck   a   matrimonial vein;  and   must 

work   it   out。   In   1768;   Mr。   James   McDonough   was   one   of   the   wealthiest 

men in Portsmouth; and the fortunate suitor for the hand of a daughter of 

Jacob   Sheafe;   a   town   magnate。   The   home   of   the   bride   was   decked   and 

lighted for the nuptials; the banquet…table was spread; and the guests were 

gathered。 The minister in his robe stood by the carven mantelpiece; book 

in hand; and waited。 Then followed an awkward intervalthere was a hitch 

somewhere。 A strange silence fell upon the laughing groups; the air grew 

tense    with   expectation;    in  the   pantry;   Amos    Boggs;     the  butler;  in  his 

agitation    split  a  bottle   of  port   over   his  new   cinnamon…colored        small… 

clothes。 Then a whispera whisper suppressed these twenty minutesran 

through the apartments;〃The bridegroom has not come!〃。 He never came。 

The mystery of that night remains a mystery after the lapse of a century 

and a quarter。 

     What   had   become   of   James   McDonough?   The   assassination   of   so 

notable a person in a community where every strange face was challenged; 

where      every    man's    antecedents     were    known;     could    not   have    been 

accomplished   without   leaving   some   slight   traces。   Not   a   shadow   of   foul 

play    was    discovered。     That    McDonough        had   been    murdered      or  had 

committed suicide were theories accepted at first by a few; and then by no 

one。 On the   other hand; he   was in love   with his fiancee;   he had   wealth; 

power; positionwhy had he fled? He was seen a moment on the public 

street; and then never seen again。 It was as if he turned into air。 Meanwhile 

the   bewilderment   of   the   bride   was   dramatically   painful。   If   McDonough 

had been waylaid and killed; she could mourn for him。 If he had deserted 



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her; she could wrap herself in her pride。 But neither course lay open to her; 

then or afterward。 In one of the Twice Told Tales Hawthorne deals with a 

man   named   Wakefield;   who   disappears   with   like   suddenness;   and   lives 

unrecognized   for   twenty   years   in   a   street   not   far   from   his   abandoned 

hearthside。 Such expunging of one's self was not possible in Portsmouth; 

but   I  never  think   of   McDonough   without   recalling Wakefield。  I  have   an 

inexplicable conviction that for many a year James McDonough; in some 

snug     ambush;      studied     and   analyzed      the   effect   of   his   own    startling 

disappearance。 

     Some       time   in   the   year   1758;     there   dawned      upon    Portsmouth       a 

personage   bearing   the   ponderous   title   of   King's   Attorney;   and   carrying 

much   gold   lace   about   him。       This   gilded   gentleman   was   Mr。        Wyseman 

Clagett; of Bristol; England; where his father dwelt on the manor of Broad 

Oaks; in a mansion with twelve chimneys; and kept a coach and eight or 

ten    servants。    Up    to   the  moment       of  his   advent    in   the   colonies;    Mr。 

Wyseman         Clagett    had   evidently     not   been    able   to  keep    anything     but 

himself。 His wealth consisted of his personal decorations; the golden frogs 

on his lapels; and the tinsel at his throat; other charms he had none。 Yet 

with these he contrived to dazzle the eyes of Lettice Mitchel; one of the 

young   beauties   of   the   province;   and   to   cause   her   to   forget   that   she   had 

plighted troth   with a   Mr。 Warner;  then   in Europe;  and destined to   return 

home with a disturbed heart。 Mr。 Clagett was a man of violent temper and 

ingenious   vindictiveness;   and   proved   more   than   a   sufficient   punishment 

for   Lettice's   infidelity。   The   trifling   fact   that   Warner   was   deadhe   died 

shortly after his returndid not interfere with the course of Mr。 Clagett's 

jealousy; he was haunted by the suspicion that Lettice regretted her first 

love;   having      left   nothing   undone   to    make   her   do   so。   〃This   is   to  pay 

Warner's debts;〃 remarked Mr。 Clagett; as he twitched off the table…cloth 

and wrecked the tea…things。 

     In    his  official   capacity     he  was    a  relentless    prosecutor。     The    noun 

Clagett      speedily     turned    itself   into   a   verb;    〃to   Clagett〃     meant     〃to 

prosecute;〃 they were convertible terms。 In spite of his industrious severity; 

and   his   royal   emoluments;   if   such   existed;   the   exchequer   of   the   King's 

Attorney showed a perpetual deficit。 The stratagems to which he resorted 



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from   time   to   time   in   order   to   raise   unimportant   sums   reminded   one   of 

certain scenes in Moliere's comedies。 

     Mr。   Clagett   had   for   his   ame   damnee   a   constable   of   the   town。   They 

were made for each other; they were two flowers with but a single stem; 

and this was their method of procedure: Mr。 Clagett dispatched one of his 

servants   to   pick   a   quarrel   with   some   countryman   on   the  street;   or   some 

sailor     drinking     at  an   inn:    the   constable     arrested     the   sailor   or   the 

countryman;        as  the   case   might    be;   and   hauled     the  culprit   before    Mr。 

Clagett;   Mr。   Clagett   read   the   culprit   a   moral   lesson;   and   fined   him   five 

dollars and costs。 The plunder was then divided between the conspirators 

two   hearts   that   beat   as   oneClagett;   of   course;   getting   the   lion's   share。 

Justice was never administered in a simpler manner in any country。 This 

eminent legal light was extinguished in 1784; and the wick laid away in 

the   little   churchyard   in   Litchfield;   New   Hampshire。   It   is   a   satisfaction; 

even after such a lapse of time; to know that Lettice survived the King's 

Attorney sufficiently long to be very happy with somebody else。  Lettice 

Mitchel was scarcely eighteen when she married Wyseman Clagett。 

     About eighty years ago; a witless fellow named Tilton seems to have 

been a familiar figure on the streets of the old town。 Mr。 Brewster speaks 

of him as 〃the well…known idiot; Johnny Tilton;〃 as if one should say; 〃the 

well…known statesman; Daniel Webster。〃 It is curious to observe how any 

sort   of   individuality   gets   magnified   in   this   parochial   atmosphere;   where 

everything lacks perspective; and nothing is trivial。 Johnny Tilton does not 

appear to have had much individuality to start with; it was only after his 

head     was     cracked     that   he   showed      any    shrewdness       whatever。      That 

happened   early   in   his   unobtrusive   boyhood。   He   had   frequently   watched 

the hens flying out of the loft window in his father's stable; which stood in 

the rear of the Old Bell Tavern。 It occurred to Johnny; one day; that though 

he   might   not   be   as   bright   as   other   lads;   he   certainly   was   in   no   respect 

inferior to a hen。 So he placed himself on the sill of the window in the loft; 

flapped his arms; and took flight。 The New England Icarus alighted head 

downward; lay insensible for a while; and was henceforth looked upon as 

a   mortal   who   had   lost   his   wits。 Yet   at   odd   moments   his   cloudiness   was 

illumined by a gleam of intelligence such as had not been detected in him 



               

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