i^El IMAGE EVALUATION TEST TARGET (MT-3) /. <^^' : «? Q< ^: . ^^ w- & f/j ^ 1.0 I.I IM 11^ ||||25 lltllO O 20 I" ii; •« }M ilM 1.6 .^. $m. %> ^/a A /^ "> />;^ ^i i?;i Photographic Sciences Corporation iV drei\tui*e^^ ( OK, THE STORY OF A BAD BOY HV THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH. TORONTO : J. Ross Robertson, 67 Yonge Sfrelt. ~" 1878^ '& THE STORY OF A DAD DOY. J \ CHAP'l'ER I. IN WHICH t INTRODl'CH MVSF.LF. This is the story of a bad boy. Well, not such a very bad boy, luit a pretty bad boy ; and I ought to know, f )r I am. or rather I was, that boy myself. Lest the title should mislead the reader, I hasten to assure him here that I have no dark confessions to make. I call my story the story of a bad bov, partly to distinguish myself from those faultless young gentlemen who generally figure in narratives of this kind, and partly because I really was not a cherub. I may truthfully say I was an ami- able, impulsive lad, blessed with fine diges- tive powers, and no hypocrite. I didn't want to ue an angel and with the angels stand; I didn't think the missionary tracts {)resented to me by the Rev. Wi'oird Haw- kins were half so nice as Robinson Crusoe ; and I didn't send my little pocket-money to the natives of the Feejee Islands, but spent it royally in peppermint-drops and tatty candy. In short, I was a real human boy, such as you may meet anyw'.iere in New England, and no more like the impossible boy in a story-book than a sound orange is like one that has been sucked dry. But let us begin at the beginning. Whenever a new scholar came to our school, I used to confront him at recess with the following words: "My name's Tom Hailey ; what's your name ?" If the naire struck me favorably, I shook hands with the ne.v pupil cordially ; but if it didn't, I would turn on my heel, for I was particular on this point. Such names as Higgins, Wiggins, and Spiiggins were deadly affronts to my ear; while Langdon, W^allace, Blake, and the like, were passwords to my confidence and esteem. Ah me ! some of those dear fellows are rather elderly boys by this time, — lawyers, merchants, sea-captains, soldiers, authors, what not ? Phil. Adams (a special good name that Adams) is consul at Shanghai, where I picture him to myself with his head closely shaved, — he never had too much hair, — and a long pigtail hanging down behind. He is married, I hear ; and I hope he and she that was Miss Wang Wang are very happy together, sitting cross-legged over their diminutive cups of tea in a sky- blue tower hung with bells. It is so I think of him ; to me he is henceforth a jewelled mandarin, talking nothing but l>roken China. Whitcomb is a judg , sedate and wise, with spectacles balaiiC"<' on the bridge of that re- markable nose which, in former days, was so plentifully sprinkled with freckles that the boys christened him I'epper Whitcomb. Just to think i)f little Pepper Whitcomb oeing a jn Ige I What would he do to me now, I wonder, if I were to sing out " Pep- per 1 " some (iay in court i" I'red Langdon is in Calitbrnia, in the native-wine business, — he used to make the best locorice-water / ever tasted ! Binny W'allace sleeps in the old South Burying-Ground ; and Jock Har- ris, too, is dead, — Harris, who commanded us boys, of old, in the famous snow-ball bat- tles of Slater's Hill. Was it yesterday I saw him at the head of his regiment on its way to join the shattered army of the Poto- mac ? Not vestcrday, but six years ago. It was at th{! battle of the Seven Pines. Cial- lant Jack Harris, that never drew rein until he had dasliod into the ['■iebel battery ! So they f(.)und him, — lying across the enemy's guns. How we have parted, and wandered, and married, and died ! I wonder what has be- come of all the lioys who went to the Temple Grammar School at Rivermouth when I was a youngster ' " All, all are gone, the old familiar faces ! " It is with no ungentle hand I summon them back, for a moment, from that Past which has closed uj)on them and upon me. How pleasantly they live in my memory ! Happy, magical Post, in whose fairy atmos- phere even Conway, mine ancient foe, stands forth transfigured, with a sort of dreamy glory encircling his bright red hair I 4 TOM BAILEYS ADVENTIIIKS ; Oil With the old schcol formulfi I commence these sketches (jf my boyhood. My name is Tom Hailey ; what is yours, f^'oiitlt; reader ? 1 take it for granted it is neither W ij^'gins nor Spriggins, and that we shall get on fa- mously together, and be capital friends for- ever. CH.VPTEK II. IN Will' II I KNT IKTAIN I'KeT I,I.\ K VIKWS 1 was born at Kivennouth, but, Ijefore I had a chance to become very well actjuaint- ed with that pretty \cw England Town, my })arents removed to New Orleans, where my father investi.'d his money so securely in the banking business that hi: was never able to get any of it out again. But of this here- after. 1 was only eighteen months old at the time of the removal, and it didn't make much difference to me where I was, because I V. as so small ; but several years later, when mv father projiosed to take me North to be educated. I had my own peculiar views on the subject. I instantly kicked over the lit- tle negro boy who happened to be standing by me at the moment, and, stampiiig my foot violently on the tloor of the piazza, declared that I would not be taken away to live among a lot of Yankees ! You see I was what is called " a Northern man with Southern principles." I had no recollectitin of New England : my earliest memories were connected with the South, with Aunt Chloe, my old negro nurse, and with the great ill-kept garden in the centre of which stiK)d our house, — a whitewashed stone house it was, with wide verandas, — ■ shut out from the street by lines of orange, fig, and magnolia trees. I knew I was born at the North, but hoped nobody would find it out. I looked upon the misfortune as something so shrouded by time and distance that maybe nobody remembered it. I ne\ er told my schoolmates I was a Yankee, be- cause they talked about the Yankees in such a scornful way it made me feel th.it it was quite a disgrace not to be born in La)uisiana, or at least in one of the Border States, And this impression was strengthened byAunt Chloe. who said, " dar wasn't no gentleman in the Norf no way," and on one occasion terrihed me beyond measure by declaring that, " if any of dem mean whites tried to git her away from marster, she was jes' gwine to knock 'em on the head wid a gourd ! '' The way this poor creature's eyes flashed, and the tragic air with which she struck at an imaginary " mean white," areamong the most vivid things in my memory of those days. 'J'o be frank, my idea of the North was about as accurate as that entertained by the well-educated luiglishinen of the j)resent day concerning .America. 1 sup- posed the inhabitants were divided into two classes, — Indians and white people ; that the Indians occasionally dashed down on New York, and scalped any woman or child (giving the preference to' clnUireni whom they caught lingi i iiig in the luitskirts after nightfall ; that the uhito men were either hunters or schoolmasters, an^l that it was winter pretty much all the year round. The prevailing style of architecture 1 took to be log-cabins. With this delightful picture of Northern civilization in my eye, the reader will easily understand my terror at tlie bare thought of being trinsported to Kivermouth to s.hool, and possibly will forgive me for kicking over little black Sam, and otherwise misconduct- ing myself, when my father announced his determination to me. As for kicking little Sam, — 1 (ih.cdvs did that, more or less gently, when anything went wrong with me. My father was greatly peiple.xed and troubled by this unusually violent outbreak, and especially by the real consternation which he saw written in every line of my countenance. As little black Sam picked himself up, mv father took my hand in his and led me thoughtfully to the library. I can see him now as he leaned back in the bamboo chair and questioned me. He appeared strangely agitated on learning the nature of my objections to going North, and proceeded at once to knock down all my pinedog houses, and scatter all the Indian tribes with which I had populated the greater portion of the Eastern and Middle States. " Who on earth, Tom, has filled your brain with such silly stories?" asked my father, wijiing the tears from his eyes. " Aunt Chloe. sir ; she told me." "And you really thought your grand- father wore a blanket embroidered with beads, and ornamented his leggins with the scalps of his enemies ? " " Well, sir, I didn t think that exactb'." " Did n't think that exactly ? Tom,' you will be the death of me." He hid his face in his handkerchief, and, when he looked up, he seemed to have been suffering acutely. I was deeply moved myself, though I did not clearly understj.nd what 1 had said or done to cause hiin to feel so badly. Perhaps 1 had hurt his f<- ■!- ings by thinking it even possible that G; , r.d- father Nutter was an Indian warrior. My father !' voted that evening and sev- eral subsequent evenings to giving me a clear anrl succinct account of New Eng- land , its early struggles, its progress, and t THE STORY OF A DAD l!()V. 5 d l.y t he Mip- () two that .n (Ml child will 'in attt;i- either it was :k in you I its present condition, — taint and confuscij glimmerings of all which J had obtained at school, where history had neveir been a favorite pursuit of mine. I was no longer unwilling; to <;o North; on the contrary, the j)rojK)sed journey to a new world full of wonders hept me awaUe ni^'hts I promised myself all sorts of fun ami ar IiAII.F.Y S ADVENTritKS ! OU latt'd as to wliat it was gdint,' to dn. In a few minutes wo wuro laslicd to the little tiKHister, which gave a snort and a shriek, and commenced backing us out from tlie levee i wharf i with the greatest case. [ once saw an ant running away with a piece of cheese eight or tt n times larger than itself. I ciniKl not helping thinking of it, when I found the chubby, smoky-nosed tugd^oat to\\ing the Typhoon out into the Mississippi River. In the middle of the stream ut; swung rounfl, the cnrrent cau;.;ht us, and away we liew like a great winged bird. Oidy it didn t seem as if rrc were moving. The shore, with the countless steamlioats, the tangled rigging of the ships, and the long lines cf warehouses, appeared to be gliding away fron us. It was grand sport to stimd on the rjuar- ter-deck and watch all this. Before long there was nothing to be seen en either side but stretches of low swampy land, covered with stunted cyp.ress-trees, from which drooped delicate streamers of Spanish moss, — a fine place for alligators and congo snakes. Here and there vve passed a yellow sand-bar, and here and there a snag lifted its nose out o{ the water like a shark. " This is your last chance to see the city, Tom," said my father, as we swept round a bend of the river. I turned and looked. New ( )rleans was just a colorless mass of something in the distance, and the dome of the St. Charles Hotel, ujion which the sun shimmered for a mr)ment, was no bigger than the top of old Aunt Chloe's thimble. What do I remember next ? the gray sky and the fretful blue waters of the f rulf. The steam-tug had long since let slip her haw- sers and i,'one panting away with a derisive scream, as much as to say, '• I've done my duty, now look out for yourself, old Ty- phoon !'' The ship seemed quite proud c}f being left to take care cf itself, and, with its huge white sails bulged out, strutted oil' like a vain turke}'. I had been standing by my father near the wheel-house all this while, observing things with that nicetv of percep- tion which belongs only to children ; but now the dew began falling, and we went below to have supper. The fresh fruit and milk, and the slices of cold chicken, looked verv nice ; yet some- how I had no appetite. There was a general smell of tar about everything. Then the ship gave sudden lurches that made it a matter of uncertainty whether one was going to put his fork to his month or into his eye. The tumblers and wineglasses, stuck in a rack over the table, kept clink. ing a .d clinking ; and the cabin lamp, sus- pemled by four gilt chains from the ceiling, swayed to and fro crazily. Now the Hoor seemed to rise, and now it seemed to sink under one's feet like a feather-bed. There were not more than a dozen pas- sengers on board, including ourselves ; and all of these, excepting a bald-headed old gentleman.- a retired sea captain, — disap- peared into their state-rooms at an early hour of the evening. After supper was cleared away, my father and the elderly gentleman, whose name was ("ajitain Truck, played at checkers; and I amused myself tor a \shile b\- walching the trouble tliey iiad in keeping the men in the proper places. Just at the most exciting point of the game, the ship would careen, and down would go the \\hite checkers pell- mell among the black. Then my fatl.er laughed, but Cap/tain Tru(d< would grow very angry, aiul vcjw that iie would have v.on the game in a move or two more, if the confounded old chicken-coop- — that s what he called the ship — hadn't lurched. " I — I think I will go to bed now, jilease," I said, laying my hand on my father's knee, and feeling exceedingly queer. It was high time, for the Typhoon was plunging about ui the most alarming fashion, I w-as sfieedily tucked away in the uj)per berth, where I felt a trifle more easy at first. My clothes were placed on a narrow shelf at my feet, and it was a great comfort to me to know that my pistol was so handy, for I made no doubt we should fall in with Pirates before many hours. This is the last tiling I remember with any distinctness. At midnight, as I was afterwards told, we were struck by a gale which never left us until we came in sight of the .Massachusetts coast. For days and days I had no sensible idea of what was going on around me. That we were being hurled somewhere upside-down, and that I didn't like it, was about all I knew. I have, indc; d, a vague impression that my father used to climb up to the berth and call me his " Ancient Mariner," bidding me cheer up. But the Ancient Mariner was far from cheering up, if I recollect rightly; and I don't believe that venerable navigator would have cared much if it had been announced to him, through a speaking-trumpet, that "a low, black, sus- picious craft, with raking masts, was rapid- ly l.iearing down upon us ' " In fact, one morning, I thought that such was the case, for bang! went the big cannon I had noticed in the bow of the ship when we came on board, and which had suggested to me the idea of pirates. Bang! went the gun again in a few seconds. I made a feeble effort to get at my trousers-pocket ; rUF, STOIiY OK A HAK I'.OY. Iiut the Typhoon was only saluting Cape Cod,— the tiist land sii^htoti [n- vr-isels ap- proaching the const from ;i soiuhcii) direc- tion. The vessel had ceased to n-U, and my sea- sickness jiast.d away as rapidly as it came. I was all ri.uht now, "(inlv a little shaky in mv timbers and a littK' liliie about tiie^ills,' as (!aptam Truck remarked to my mother, who, like myself, iiail been confined to the state-room during the jvissage. At Cajie Cod the wind parted company with us without saying as niucii as ' Ex- cuse me ;" so wej were nearly two days in making the run which in favorable weather is usu.'dly accomplished in seven hours. That's what the pilot said. I was able to go aliout the ship now, and I lost no time in cultivating the acquaintance of the sailor with the green-haired lady on his arm. I found him in the forecastle, — a sort of cellar in the front part of the vessel. He was an agreeable sailor, as I had ex- pected, and we became the liest of friends in five minutes. He had be(!n all over the world two or three times, and knew no end of stories. According to his own account, he must have been shipwrecked at least twice a year ever since his l>irth. Me had served under De- catur when that galLmt officer peppered the Algerines and maJe them promise not to sell their prisoners of war into slavery ; be had worked a gun at the bomb:udnient of Vera Cruz in the Mexican War, and he had been on Alexander Selkirk's Island more than once. There were very tew things he hadn't done in a seafaring way. " I suppose, sir," I remarked, " that your name isn't 'J'yphoon ? " "Why, Lord love ye, lad, my names Benjamin Watson, of is'antucket. But I'm a true blue Typhooner," he added, which increased my respect for him ; I don't know- why, and I didn't know then whether Ty- phoon was the name of a vegetable or a pro- iession. N(^t wishing to be outdone in frankness, I disclosed to him tnat utv name was Tom Bailey, upon which he said he v.as very glad to hear it. When we got more intimate, I discovered that Sailor Ben, as he wished me to call him, was a perfect walking picture-book. He had two anchors, a star, and a frigate in full sail on his right arm ; a pair of lovely blue hands clasped on his breast, and Ive no doubt that other parts of his body w-ere illustrated in the same agreeable manner. I imagine he was fond of drawings, and took this means of gratifying his artistic taste. 1 1 was certainly very ingenious and convenient. A portfolio might be misplaced, or dropped overboard, but Sailor Ben hail his pictures wherever he went, just as tliat eminent per- son in tlie poem " \\ ith riiij;s on lur finj^crs and bells on Iut toes " was accompanied by music on all occasions. The two hands on his breast, he inforii..-d me, were a trilnit(> to the nujuiory of a dead messmate from whom he had parted years ago, — ar.d ^urel\ a morc' touching tribute v.as never engra\ed on a tombstone This caused nv to think I'f my parting with old Aunt Chloe. and I told him I should t.ike it as a great favor indcetl if he wouKl }>aint a jiink hand and a black hand on my chest. He said the colors were pricked into the skin j with needles, and that thi' operation was I somewhat painful. I assured him in an off- I hand manner, that I didn't mind pain, and j begged him to set to v.ork at once. } The simple-hearted iVllow, who was pro- I bably not a little vain of his skill, took me into the fcn'ecastle. and was on the point of ' complying with my retiUest, when my father j happened to look down the gangway,— a I circumstance that rather interfered with the I decorative art. I I didn't have another opportunity of con- j ferring alone with Sailor Uen, for the ne.\t j morning, bright and earl\-, we came in sight of the cupola of the {Boston State House. CH.M'TER IV. RIVKRMOUVll. I It was a beautiful May morning when the I Typhoon hauled up at Long Wharf. : W hethfir the Indians were not early risers, I or v.hetlur they were ;:way just then on the I war-path, I couldn't deteimine; but they I did not appear in any great force, — in fact, j tlid not appear ai all. I In the remarkable geograph\ which I never hurt myself with studying at NewOr- I leans, was a picture representing the landing j of the rilgrim Fathers, at Plymouth. The I'ilgrim I'ather:.. in rather odd hats I and coats, are seen approaching the savages ; the savages, in no coats or hats to speak of, are evidently undecided whether to shake hauils with the I'ilgrim Fathers or to make one grand rush and scalp the entire party. Now this scene had so stamp- ed itself on my mind, that, in spite of all my father had said, I was prepared for soiriB such greeting from the aborigines. Nevertheless, I was not sorry to have my expectations unfulfilled. By the way, speaking of the I'ilgrim Fathers, I often used to wonder why there was no mention made of the Pilgrim Mothers. TOM IJAILKY S ADVKN'I TIIKS : oil WhiU) our truiiKs wi-n; \n\u passed slowly through the village of Hamilton, we saw two boys lighting behind a red barn, Tlierc was also n sliaggy yellow dog, who looked ;is if he had commenced to unravel, barking himself all up into.a knot with excitement. We had only a hurried glimjise cf tl;e battle, —long » iiough, however, to si'o that tht; eoinbat- ants were ejuallv matched and very much in earnesi. I ,'im ashamed to say how many tiip.es since I have speculateugnacious urchins of their own; vet to this day I sometimes find 111) self woiiilenng how th.it tight turneil out. We had been riding perhaps two lunirs and a half, wdien we shot by a tall factory with a chimney resembling a church steeple • then the locomotive gavi; a scream, the en- gineer rang his bell, and we plunged into tiie twilight of a long wooden building, o])en at both tMids. Here we stopped, and the conductor, thrusting his head in at the car door, cried out. " 1 ','issengers for l^iver- nioiuh !" .■\t last we h.'id re.iched our journey's end. On the platform my father sho(dc hands with a straight, brisk old gentleman whose face was very serene and rosy. He had on a white hat and a long swallow-tailed coat, the collar of w hich came clear up above his ears. He did'nt look unlike a Pilgrim Father. This, of course, was (Grandfather Nutter, at whose house 1 was born. My mother kis.sed him a groat many times; and I was glad to see him myself, though 1 na- turallv did not feel very intimate with a jier- son whom 1 had not .seen since I was eight- een months old. While we were getting into the double- seated wagon which (irandfather Nutter had jirovided, I took the; oi'i>ortunity of ask- ing after the health of the pony. The pony had arrived all right ten days before, and was in the stable at home, quile anxious to see me. As we drove through the ipiiet old town, 1 thought Rivermouth the prettiest place in the world ; and I think so still. The streets are long and wide, shaded by gigantic .Vnu'ric.'in elms, whose drooping branches, interlacing here and there, span the avenues with arches graceful enough to be the handi- work of fairies. "Many of the houses have small llower f Mfdens in front, gay in the season with citina-asters, and are substanti- ally built, with massive chimney-stacks and protruding eaves. A beautiful river goes ri|)pling by the town, and, after turning and twisting among islands, empties into the sea. TIfK STdKY or A li.VD l!(.Y Till' Imrbcr is so tine that tlic largest ships can sail dirt'ctlv up tu the wharves ami drop aiiclior. Only thiv don't. >'cars af,'o It was a farr,ons seaport. I'rincidv fortnn'-s were made in the West Imlia traiie : and in iSij, when we were at war with (Mi-at Uritain, anv nntnhei of privateers were (itted onf at Kivei month to pr<'v npon the in(!rchant vessels of the enemy. C.'ertain pt.'ople ^'lew siiddenlv and mysterionslv rich \ fjreat many of "the first famihes " ot to-day do not cari,' to trace tiieir pedigree baei< to the time whf-n their j^randsires nwned shares in th> Matilda Jane, twcntv- lour .ynns. Well, will ! Few ships come to K'ivern^onth now. C'ommerce drifted into other jiorts. 'I'he [ihantom fleet sailed off one d.nv, and never came back aj,'ain. The crazy old warehouses are em])ty ; and barnacles and eel^'rass clinj,' to the jnles of the crnmblinf,' wharves, where the sunshine lies lovingly, bringini.; out the faint spicy odor that har.nts the place, —the f;Iu)st of the old dead West India trade ! During; our ride from the station, I was struck, of course, only by the s^eneral neat- ness of the houses and the beauty of the c!m-trees linint;; the streets. I describe Kivermouth now as I came to know it afterwards. Kivermouth is a very ancient town. In my day there existed a tradition among the boys that it was here Christopher ("obvnl'us made his lirst landini; on this continent. I remember having the exact spot pointed out to me bv Pepper Whitcomb! One thing is certain, Captain John Smith, who afterwards, according to the legend, marrii^d Pocahontas, — whereby he got Powhatan for a father-indaw, — exjilored the river in 1614, and was much charmed by the beauty of Kivermouth, which at that time was covered with wild strawberry-vines. Rivermouth figures prominently in all the colonial histories. Every other hou.se in the place has its tradition more or less grim and entertaining. If ghosts could flourish anywhere, there are certain streets in River- mouth that would be full of them. I don't know t)f a town with so manv old houses. Let us linger, for a moment, in front of the one which the Oldest Inhabitant i.s always sure to point out to the curious stranger. It is a square wooden edifice, with gam- brel 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 t>>this house, not because of its ag(\ for it has not been standing (piite a century ; nor on .account of Its architecture, which is not striking, — but because of the illustriiius men who ,-it vari- ous periods have occupied its spacious ch.imbers In 1770 It was an aristocratic hotel .\t the left side of the entrance stood a high post, from which swung the sign nf the i''.arl of llahfa\. The landlord was a standi loyalist, — that is to say, he believed in the king, and when the overtaxed colonies ileteriTiined to throw off tlie British yoke, th(^ adhiM-enls to the Crown held private meetings in one of th»; back rooms of thf tavern. This irritatetl tiie ri'bels. as thev were i:alled ; and one night they made an attack on the Ivirl of Halifax, tore down the sign-board, broke in the window-sashes, and gave the landlord hardiv tinu; to make him- self invisible over a ience in the rear iMjr several months the shattered tavern remained deserted At last the exiled inn- keejier, on promising tcj do better, was al- lowed to return ; ;i new sign, bearing the name of William I'ltt, the friend of America, swung proudly from the door-post, and the jiatriots were appeased. Here it was that the mail-coach frein fJoston twice a week, for manv a year, set down its load of travel- lers and gossip, h'or some of the details in this sketch, I am in(l(d:)ted to a n.'centlv jniblished chronicle of those times. It is 1782. The I'leiich Heet is lying in the harbor of Rivermouth, and eight of the princijial officers, in white uniforms trimmed with gold lace, lia\e taken up their quar- ters at the sign cjf the William Pitt. \\'ho is this young and handsome officer now entering the door of th.- tavern ? It is no less a personage than the Marquis Lafay- ette, who has come all the way from Pro- vidence to visit the I'rench gentiemen board- ing there. What a gallant-looking cavalier he is. with his quick e}es and coal-black hair ! I'orty years later he visited the spot again ; his locks were gray and his step was feel.)le, but his heart held its young love for Liberty. Who is this hnely dressed traveller alighting from his coach-and four, attended by servants in livery ? Do you know that sounding name, written in big valorous let- ters 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 door-step of the William Pitt, bowing politely, and inquirin; in the must courteous terms in the world if they can be accommodated. It is the time ot 10 TOM HAILF.Y S ADVENTURES : OH the French Ivcvolution, ami these arc three sons of the Duke of Orleans — Louis Philippe and his two brothers. Louis Philippe never forgot his visit to I-iiver- mouth. Years afterwards, when he was seated on the throne of France, he asked an American ladv, who cha'iced to be at his court, if the jjleasant old mansion were still standing. But a f^reater and a better man than the kin,i,' of the Frencdi has honored this roof. Here, in 1789, came (ieor<,'e \Vashin; leather Wash- ington took from the plume of his three- cornered hat, and presented with his own hand to the worshipful Mistress Jocelyn the day he left Rivennouth forever I wish I could describe the mincing genteel air, and the ill-concealed self-complact.r c\, >vith which the dear old lady related the inci- dent. Manv a Saturdav afternoon have I climbed up the rickety staircase to that dingy room, which always had a liavor of snuff about it, to sit on a stiff-backed chair and listen for hours ttjgether to Dame joce- Ivn's stories of tlie olden time. How she would prattle! She was bi;dridden, — 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 iiad taken place under iier very nose w.:re unknown to this faded, crooning old gentlewoman, whom the eight- eenth century had neglected to take away with the rest of its old traps. She had no patience with new-fangled notions. The old ways and the old times were good enough for her. She had nev-:r seen a steam- engine, though she had heard " the dratted thing" screech in the distance. In lirr day, when gentlefolk travelled, they went in their own coaches. She didn t s ^e how respect- able people could bring theiiiselves down to " riding in a car with rag-tag r.nd bobtail and Lord-knows-who.' Poor old aristo- crat! 'the landlord charged her no rent for the room, and the neigh b.irs took turns in supplying h-^v with meals. Towards the close of her life, — she lived to be ninety- nine, --siie grev>- very fretful aud capricious abotit her KhuI. If she didn't chance to fancy what was sent her, she had no hesita- tion in sending it back to the giver with " Miss [ocelyn's respectful comjdiments." But I have been g jssiping too long, — and yet not too long if l have impressed upon the reader an idea of what a rusty, delight- ful old town it was to which I had come to spend the next three or four years of my boyhood. A drive of twenty minutes from the sta- tion brought us to the door-step of Grand- father Nutter's house. What kind of house it was, and what sort of people lived in it, shall be told in another chapter. CHAPTI'R V. Tin: NUTTER HOUSE .■WD THE NUTTER E.AMILV. The Nutter House, — all the more prom- inent dwellings in Rivermouth are named after somebody ; \ov instance, there is the Walford House, the Venner House, the Trefethen House, etc., though it by no means follows that they are inhabited by the people whose names they bear, — -the Nutter Ht)use, to resume, has tieen in our family nearly a hundred years, and is an honor to the builder (an ancestor of ours, I believe!, supposin;,' durability to be a merit. If our ancestor urns a carpenter, he knew UiS trade. I wish I knew mine as well, such timber and such workmanship don't often come together in houses built nowa- days. Im gine a low-stuiided structure, with a wide nail running through the mitldle. At your right hand, as you enter, stands a tall black mahogany clock, lc>oking like an Egyptian mummy set up en end. On each side of the hall are doors (whose knobs, it must be confessed, do noi turn very easily), THE STORY OF A BAD BOY. 11 this faded, the eiglit- takc away he had no ons. The veie good n a steam- he dratted n /((T day, nt in their w respect- s I'.own to id liobtail !d aristo- II > rent for < turns in kfards the le ninety- capricious chance to no hesita- jiver with inients." dug, — and ssed upon y, dehght- d come to :irs of my m the sta- of Grand- i of house ved in it. NUTTER ore prom- ire named ere is the ouse, the it by no abited Iiy )ear, — the n in our and is an of ours, I 3 a mei'it. he knew as well, hip don't ilt nowa- e, with a eldle. At ds a tall like an ( )n each knobs, it ry easily), i opening into large rooms wainscoted and rich in wood-carvings about the mantel- pieces and cornices. The walls are covered with pictured paper, representing landscapes and sea-views. In the parlor, tor example, this enlivening figure is repeated all over the room ; — A group of English peasants, wear- ing Italian hats, are dancing on a lawn that abruptly resolves itself into a sea-beach, upon which stands a tlabln' iishcrman (nationality unknown), quietly hauling in what appears to be a small whale, and totally regardless I if the dreadful naval com- bat going on just bevond the end of his fish- ing-rod. On the other side of the ships is the main-land again, with the same peasants dancing. Our ancestors were very worthy people, but their wall-papers were aliomin- There are neither grates nor stoves in these (piamt chambers, but splendid open chimneys-places, with room enough for the cor]>ulent back-log to turn over comfortably on the polished andirons. .\ wide stair-case leads from the hall to the second storv, which is arranged much like the first. Over this is the garret. I needn't tell a New England boy what a museum of curiosities is the garret of a well-regulated Mew Eng- land house of fifty or sixty years' standing Here meet together, as if by some precon- certed arrangement, all the broken-down chairs of the household, all the spaviiieil tables, all the seedy hats, all the intoxicated- looking boots, all the split walking-sticks that have retired from business, " weary with the march of life." The pots, the pans, the trunks, the bottles, — who may hope to make an inventory of the numberless odds and ends collected in ihis bewildered lum- ber-room ? But wiiat a place it is to sit of an afternoon with the rain pattering on the roof! what a place in which to read Gulli- vers Travels, en- the famous adventures of Rinaldo Rinaldini ! My grandfather's liouse stood a little back from the main street, in the shadow of two handsome elms, whose overgrown boughs would dash themselves against the gables whenever the wind blew hard. In the rear was a pleasant garden, covering perhaps a quarter of an acre, full of plum-trees and gooseberry-bushes. These trees were old settlers, and are all dead now, excepting oni', which bears a |iurple plum as big as an egg. This tree, as I remark, is still standing, antl a more beautiful tree to tumble cut of never grew anywhere. In the north-western corner of the garden were the stables and carriage- house opening upon a narrow lane. You inay imagine that I made an earlv visit to that locality to inspect Gipsv. Indeed, I paid her a visit every half-hour during the first day of my arrival. .\t the twentv- fourth visit she trod on my foot rather heavily, as a reminder, probably, that I \sas wearing out my welcome. She was a knowing httle ptmy, that Gipsy, and I shall have much to say nf her in the course of 'hese pages. Gipsy's fiuarters were all that could be wished, but nothing among my new sur- roundings gave me more satisfaction than the cosey sleeping apartment that had been prepared for myself. It was the hall room over the from door. 1 had never had a chamber all tn myself before, and this one, about twice the sizi' of our state-room on board the Typhcon, v.as a marvel of neatness and comfort. Pretty chintz curtains hung at the windows, and a patch ([uiit of more colors than were in Joseph's coat covered the little truckle-bed. 'idle pattern of the wall-paper left nothing to be desired in that line. On a grav back- grountl were small bunches of leaves, unlike any that ever grew in this world ; and on every other bunch perched a yellow bird, pitted with crimson spots, as if it had just recovered from a severe attack of small-pox. That no such bird ever existed did not ile- tract from my admiration of each one. There were two hundred and sixty-eight of these birds in all, not counting those split in two where the paper was badly joined. I counteil then once when I was laid up with a fine black eye, and falling asleep im- mediately dreamed that the whoK^ t1ock suddenly took wing and Hew out of the win- dow. From that time I was never atUe to regard them as merely inanimate objects. A wash-stand in the corner, a chest of carved mahogany drawers, a looking-glass in a filligreed frame, and a high-backed chair studded with brass nails like a colfin, consti- tuted the furniture. Over the head of the bed were two oak shelves, holding perhaps a dozen books. — among which were'i'heodore, or the Peruvians ; K'obinscju Onisoe ; an odd volume of Tristram Shandy ; P.axter's Saints' Rest, and a line English eiiition of the Arabian Nights, v.ith six hundred v.ood- cuts by i farvey. Shall I ever forget the hour when I first overhauled these books? I do not allude especially to Paxter's Saints' Rest, wdiich is far from being a lively work for the young, but to the Ar.-ibian Nights, and particularly Robinso:. ('rusoc. The thrill that ran into my fingers' ends then has not run out yet. Many a time did I steal up to this nest of a room, and, taking the dog's-eared volume from its shelf, glide off into an enchanted realm, where there were no lessons to get and no boys to smash my kite. In a lidless trunk in the garret I sub.sequently unearthed 12 TOM BAILEY S ADVKNTIIIIES : Oil another motley collection of novels and ro- mances, embracing the adventures of Baron Trenck, Jack Sheppard, Don (Juixote, Gil Bias, and ("diarlotte Ti'mple,— all oi which 1 fed upon like a bookworm. I never came across a copy (>f any of those works without feeling a certain ten