the story of a bad boy-第4节

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While　we　were　getting　into　the　double…seated　wagon　which　Grandfather　Nutter　had　provided；　I　took　the　opportunity　of　asking　after　the　health　of　the　pony。　The　pony　had　arrived　all　right　ten　days　before；　and　was　in　the　stable　at　home；　quite　anxious　to　see　me。　20

As　we　drove　through　the　quiet　old　town；　I　thought　Rivermouth　the　prettiest　place　in　the　world；　and　I　think　so　still。　The　streets　are　long　and　wide；　shaded　by　gigantic　American　elms；　whose　drooping　branches；　interlacing　here　and　there；　span　the　avenues　with　arches　graceful　enough　to　be　the　handiwork　of　fairies。　Many　of　the　houses　have　small　flower…gardens　in　front；　gay　in　the　season　with　china…asters；　and　are　substantially　built；　with　massive　chimney…stacks　and　protruding　eaves。　A　beautiful　river　goes　rippling　by　the　town；　and；　after　turning　and　twisting　among　a　lot　of　tiny　islands；　empties　itself　into　the　sea。　20

The　harbor　is　so　fine　that　the　largest　ships　can　sail　directly　up　to　the　wharves　and　drop　anchor。　Only　they　don't。　Years　ago　it　was　a　famous　seaport。　Princely　fortunes　were　made　in　the　West　India　trade；　and　in　1812；　when　we　were　at　war　with　Great　Britain；　any　number　of　privateers　were　fitted　out　at　Rivermouth　to　prey　upon　the　merchant　vessels　of　the　enemy。　Certain　people　grew　suddenly　and　mysteriously　rich。　A　great　many　of　〃the　first　families〃　of　today　do　not　care　to　trace　their　pedigree　back　to　the　time　when　their　grandsires　owned　shares　in　the　Matilda　Jane；　twenty…four　guns。　Well；　well！

Few　ships　come　to　Rivermouth　now。　Commerce　drifted　into　other　ports。　The　phantom　fleet　sailed　off　one　day；　and　never　came　back　again。　The　crazy　old　warehouses　are　empty；　and　barnacles　and　eel…grass　cling　to　the　piles　of　the　crumbling　wharves；　where　the　sunshine　lies　lovingly；　bringing　out　the　faint　spicy　odor　that　haunts　the　place…the　ghost　of　the　old　dead　West　India　trade！　During　our　ride　from　the　station；　I　was　struck；　of　course；　only　by　the　general　neatness　of　the　houses　and　the　beauty　of　the　elm…trees　lining　the　streets。　I　describe　Rivermouth　now　as　I　came　to　know　it　afterwards。

Rivermouth　is　a　very　ancient　town。　In　my　day　there　existed　a　tradition　among　the　boys　that　it　was　here　Christopher　Columbus　made　his　first　landing　on　this　continent。　I　remember　having　the　exact　spot　pointed　out　to　me　by　Pepper　Whitcomb！　One　thing　is　certain；　Captain　John　Smith；　who　afterwards；　according　to　the　legend；　married　Pocahontas…whereby　he　got　Powhatan　for　a　father…in…law…explored　the　river　in　1614；　and　was　much　charmed　by　the　beauty　of　Rivermouth；　which　at　that　time　was　covered　with　wild　strawberry…vines。

Rivermouth　figures　prominently　in　all　the　colonial　histories。　Every　other　house　in　the　place　has　its　tradition　more　or　less　grim　and　entertaining。　If　ghosts　could　flourish　anywhere；　there　are　certain　streets　in　Rivermouth　that　would　be　full　of　them。　I　don't　know　of　a　town　with　so　many　old　houses。　Let　us　linger；　for　a　moment；　in　front　of　the　one　which　the　Oldest　Inhabitant　is　always　sure　to　point　out　to　the　curious　stranger。

It　is　a　square　wooden　edifice；　with　gambrel　roof　and　deep…set　window…frames。　Over　the　windows　and　doors　there　used　to　be　heavy　carvings…oak…leaves　and　acorns；　and　angels'　heads　with　wings　spreading　from　the　ears；　oddly　jumbled　together；　but　these　ornaments　and　other　outward　signs　of　grandeur　have　long　since　disappeared。　A　peculiar　interest　attaches　itself　to　this　house；　not　because　of　its　age；　for　it　has　not　been　standing　quite　a　century；　nor　on　account　of　its　architecture；　which　is　not　striking　…　but　because　of　the　illustrious　men　who　at　various　periods　have　occupied　its　spacious　chambers。

In　1770　it　was　an　aristocratic　hotel。　At　the　left　side　of　the　entrance　stood　a　high　post；　from　which　swung　the　sign　of　the　Earl　of　Halifax。　The　landlord　was　a　stanch　loyalist…that　is　to　say；　be　believed　in　the　king；　and　when　the　overtaxed　colonies　determined　to　throw　off　the　British　yoke；　the　adherents　to　the　Crown　held　private　meetings　in　one　of　the　back　rooms　of　the　tavern。　This　irritated　the　rebels；　as　they　were　called；　and　one　night　they　made　an　attack　on　the　Earl　of　Halifax；　tore　down　the　signboard；　broke　in　the　window…sashes；　and　gave　the　landlord　hardly　time　to　make　himself　invisible　over　a　fence　in　the　rear。

For　several　months　the　shattered　tavern　remained　deserted。　At　last　the　exiled　innkeeper；　on　promising　to　do　better；　was　allowed　to　return；　a　new　sign；　bearing　the　name　of　William　Pitt；　the　friend　of　America；　swung　proudly　from　the　door…post；　and　the　patriots　were　appeased。　Here　it　was　that　the　mail…coach　from　Boston　twice　a　week；　for　many　a　year；　set　down　its　load　of　travelers　and　gossip。　For　some　of　the　details　in　this　sketch；　I　am　indebted　to　a　recently　published　chronicle　of　those　times。

It　is　1782。The　French　fleet　is　lying　in　the　harbor　of　Rivermouth；　and　eight　of　the　principal　officers；　in　white　uniforms　trimmed　with　gold　lace；　have　taken　up　their　quarters　at　the　sign　of　the　William　Pitt。　Who　is　this　young　and　handsome　officer　now　entering　the　door　of　the　tavern？　It　is　no　less　a　personage　than　the　Marquis　Lafayette；　who　has　come　all　the　way　from　Providence　to　visit　the　French　gentlemen　boarding　there。　What　a　gallant…looking　cavalier　he　is；　with　his　quick　eyes　and　coal　black　hair！　Forty　years　later　he　visited　the　spot　again；　his　locks　were　gray　and　his　step　was　feeble；　but　his　heart　held　its　young　love　for　Liberty。

Who　is　this　finely　dressed　traveler　alighting　from　his　coach　and…four；　attended　by　servants　in　livery？　Do　you　know　that　sounding　name；　written　in　big　valorous　letters　on　the　Declaration　of　Independence…written　as　if　by　the　hand　of　a　giant？　Can　you　not　see　it　now？　JOHN　HANCOCK。　This　is　he。

Three　young　men；　with　their　valet；　are　standing　on　the　doorstep　of　the　William　Pitt；　bowing　politely；　and　inquiring　in　the　most　courteous　terms　in　the　world　if　they　can　be　accommodated。　It　is　the　time　of　the　French　Revolution；　and　these　are　three　sons　of　the　Duke　of　Orleans…Louis　Philippe　and　his　two　brothers。　Louis　Philippe　never　forgot　his　visit　to　Rivermouth。　Years　afterwards；　when　he　was　seated　on　the　throne　of　France；　he　asked　an　American　lady；　who　chanced　to　be　at　his　court；　if　the　pleasant　old　mansion　were　still　standing。

But　a　greater　and　a　better　man　than　the　king　of　the　French　has　honored　this　roof。　Here；　in　1789；　came　George　Washington；　the　President　of　the　United　States；　to　pay　his　final　complimentary　visit　to　the　State　dignitaries。　The　wainscoted　chamber　where　he　slept；　and　the　dining…hall　where　he　entertained　his　guests；　have　a　certain　dignity　and　sanctity　which　even　the　present　Irish　tenants　cannot　wholly　destroy。

During　the　period　of　my　reign　at　Rivermouth；　an　ancient　lady；　Dame　Jocelyn　by　name；　lived　in　one　of　the　upper　rooms　of　this　notable　building。　She　was　a　dashing　young　belle　at　the　time　of　Washington's　first　visit　to　the　town；　and　must　have　been　exceedingly　coquettish　and　pretty；　judging　from　a　certain　portrait　on　ivory　still　in　the　possession　of　the　family。　According　to　Dame　Jocelyn；　George　Washington　flirted　with　her　just　a　little　bit…in　what　a　stately　and　highly　finished　manner　can　be　imagined。

There　was　a　mirror　with　a　deep　filigreed　frame　hanging　over　the　mantel…piece　in　this　room。　The　glass　was　cracked　and　the　quicksilver　rubbed　off　or　discolored　in　many　places。　When　it　reflected　your　face　you　had　the　singular　pleasure　of　not　recognizing　yourself。　It　gave　your　features　the　appearance　of　having　been　run　through　a　mince…meat　machine。　But　what　rendered　the　looking…glass　a　thing　of　enchantment　to　me　was　a　faded　green　feather；　tipped　with　scarlet；　which　drooped　from　the　top　of　the　tarnished　gilt　mouldings。　This　feather　Washington　took　from　the　plume　of　his　three…cornered　hat；　and　presented　with　his　own　hand　to　the　worshipful　Mistress　Jocelyn　the　day　he　left　Rivermouth　forever。　I　wish　I　could　describe　the　mincing　genteel　air；　and　the　ill…concealed　self…complacency；　with　which　the　dear　old　lady　related　the　incident。

Many　a　Saturday　afternoon　have　I　climbed　up　the　rickety　staircase　to　that　dingy　room；　which　always　had　a　flavor　of　snuff　about　it；　to　sit　on　a　stiff…backed　chair　and　listen　for　hours　together　to　Dame　Jocelyn's　stories　of　the　olden　time。　How　she　would　prattle！　She　was　bedridden…poor　creature！…and　had　not　been　out　of　the　chamber　for　fourteen　years。　Meanwhile　the　world　had　shot　ahead　of　Dame　Jocelyn。　The　changes　that　had　taken　place　under　her　very　nose　were　unknown　to　this　faded；　crooning　old　gentlewoman；　whom　the　eighteenth　century　had　neglected　to　take　away　with　the　rest　of　its　odd　traps。　She　had　no　patience　with　newfangled　notions。　The　old　ways　and　the　old　times　were　good　enough　for　her。　She　had　never　seen　a　steam　engine；　though　she　had　heard　〃the　dratted　thing〃　screech　in　the　distance。　In　her　day；　when　gentlefolk　traveled；　they　went　in　their　own　coaches。　She　didn't　see　how　respectable　people　could　bring　themselves　down　to　〃riding　in　a　car　with　rag…tag　and　bobtail　and　Lord…knows…who。〃　Poor　old　aristocrat　The　landlord　charged　her　no　rent　for　the　room；　and　the　neighbors　took　turns　in　supplying　her　with　meals。　Towards　the　close　of　her　life…she　lived　to　be　ninety…nine…she　grew　very　fretful　and　capricious　about　her　food。　If　she　didn't　chance　to　fancy　what　was　sent　her；　she　had　no　hesitation　in　sending　it　back　t