波波小说

第8部分（第1页）

；　my　fortune　somewhat　resembled　that　of　aperson　who　should　entertain　an　idea　of　mitting　suicide；　and；although　beyond　his　hopes；　meet　with　the　good　hap　to　be　murdered。　Inthe　Custom…House；　as　before　in　the　Old　Manse；　I　had　spent　three　years；a　term　long　enough　to　rest　a　weary　brain；　long　enough　to　break　off　oldintellectual　habits；　and　make　room　for　new　ones；　long　enough；　andtoo　long；　to　have　lived　in　an　unnatural　state；　doing　what　was　reallyof　no　advantage　nor　delight　to　any　human　being；　and　withholding　myselffrom　toil　that　would；　at　least；　have　stilled　an　unquiet　impulse　in　me。Then；　moreover；　as　regarded　his　unceremonious　ejectment；　the　lateSurveyor　was　not　altogether　ill…pleased　to　be　recognised　by　theWhigs　as　an　enemy；　since　his　inactivity　in　political　affairs…　histendency　to　roam；　at　will；　in　that　broad　and　quiet　field　where　allmankind　may　meet；　rather　than　confine　himself　to　those　narrow　pathswhere　brethren　of　the　same　household　must　diverge　from　one　another…had　sometimes　made　it　questionable　with　his　brother　Democratswhether　he　was　a　friend。　Now；　after　he　had　won　the　crown　ofmartyrdom　（though　with　no　longer　a　head　to　wear　it　on）；　the　pointmight　be　looked　upon　as　settled。　Finally；　little　heroic　as　he　was；it　seemed　more　decorous　to　be　overthrown　in　the　downfall　of　theparty　with　which　he　had　been　content　to　stand；　than　to　remain　aforlorn　survivor；　when　so　many　worthier　men　were　falling；　and；　atlast；　after　subsisting　for　four　years　on　the　mercy　of　a　hostileadministration；　to　be　pelled　then　to　define　his　position　anew；and　claim　the　yet　more　humiliating　mercy　of　a　friendly　one。　　Meanwhile　the　press　had　taken　up　my　affair；　and　kept　me；　for　aweek　or　two；　careering　through　the　public　prints；　in　my　decapitatedstate；　like　Irvings　Headless　Horseman；　ghastly　and　grim；　andlonging　to　be　buried；　as　a　politically　dead　man　ought。　So　much　formy　figurative　self。　The　real　human　being；　all　this　time；　with　his　headsafely　on　his　shoulders；　had　brought　himself　to　the　fortableconclusion　that　everything　was　for　the　best；　and；　making　an　investmentin　ink；　paper；　and　steel…pens；　had　opened　his　long…disusedwriting…desk；　and　was　again　a　literary　man。　　Now　it　was　that　the　lucubrations　of　my　ancient　predecessor；　Mr。Surveyor　Pue；　came　into　play。　Rusty　through　long　idleness；　some　littlespace　y　intellectual　machinery　could　bebrought　to　work　upon　the　tale；　with　an　effect　in　any　degreesatisfactory。　Even　yet；　though　my　thoughts　were　ultimately　muchabsorbed　in　the　task；　it　wears；　to　my　eye；　a　stern　and　sombreaspect；　too　much　ungladdened　by　genial　sunshine；　too　little　relievedby　the　tender　and　familiar　influences　which　soften　almost　everyscene　of　nature　and　real　life；　and；　undoubtedly；　should　soften　everypicture　of　them。　This　uncaptivating　effect　is　perhaps　due　to　theperiod　of　hardly　acplished　revolution；　and　still　seethingturmoil；　in　which　the　story　shaped　itself。　It　is　no　indication；however；　of　a　lack　of　cheerfulness　in　the　writers　mind；　for　he　washappier；　while　straying　through　the　gloom　of　these　sunlessfantasies；　than　at　any　time　since　he　had　quitted　the　Old　Manse。　Someof　the　briefer　articles；　which　contribute　to　make　up　the　volume；have　likewise　been　written　since　my　involuntary　withdrawal　from　thetoils　and　honours　of　public　life；　and　the　remainder　are　gleaned　fromannuals　and　magazines；　of　such　antique　date　that　they　have　goneround　the　circle；　and　e　back　to　novelty　again。　Keeping　up　themetaphor　of　the　political　guillotine；　the　whole　may　be　considered　asthe　POSTHUMOUS　PAPERS　OF　A　DECAPITATED　SURVEYOR；　and　the　sketchwhich　I　am　now　bringing　to　a　close；　if　too　autobiographical　for　amodest　person　to　publish　in　his　life…time；　will　readily　be　excusedin　a　gentleman　who　writes　from　beyond　the　grave。　Peace　be　with　all　theworld！　My　blessing　on　my　friends！　My　forgiveness　to　my　enemies！　ForI　am　in　the　realm　of　quiet！　　The　life　of　the　Custom…House　lies　like　a　dream　behind　me。　The　oldInspector…　who；　by…the…bye；　I　regret　to　say；　was　overthrown　and　killedby　a　horse；　some　time　ago；　else　he　would　certainly　have　lived　forever…he；　and　all　those　other　venerable　personages　who　sat　with　him　at　thereceipt　of　custom；　are　but　shadows　in　my　view；　white…headed　andwrinkled　images；　which　my　fancy　used　to　sport　with；　and　has　nowflung　aside　forever。　The　merchants…　Pingree；　Phillips；　Shepard；　Upton；Kimball；　Bertram；　Hunt…　these；　and　many　other　names；　which　had　sucha　classic　familiarity　for　my　ear　six　months　ago…　these　men　of　traffic；who　seemed　to　occupy　so　important　a　position　in　the　world…　howlittle　time　has　it　required　to　disconnect　me　from　them　all；　not　merelyin　act；　but　recollection！　It　is　with　an　effort　that　I　recall　thefigures　and　appellations　of　these　few。　Soon；　likewise；　my　old　nativetown　will　loom　upon　me　through　the　haze　of　memory；　a　mist　broodingover　and　around　it；　as　if　it　were　no　portion　of　the　real　earth；　but　anovergrown　village　in　cloudland；　with　only　imaginary　inhabitants　topeople　its　wooden　houses；　and　walk　its　homely　lanes；　and　theunpicturesque　prolixity　of　its　main　street。　Henceforth；　it　ceases　tobe　a　reality　of　my　life；　I　am　a　citizen　of　somewhere　else。　My　goodtownspeople　will　not　much　regret　me；　for…　though　it　has　been　as　dearan　object　as　any；　in　my　literary　efforts；　to　be　of　some　importancein　their　eyes；　and　to　win　myself　a　pleasant　memory　in　this　abode　andburial…place　of　so　many　of　my　forefathers…　there　has　never　been；　forme；　the　general　atmosphere　which　a　literary　man　requires；　in　orderto　ripen　the　best　harvest　of　his　mind。　I　shall　do　better　amongst　otherfaces；　and　these　familiar　ones；　it　need　hardly　be　said；　will　do　justas　well　without　me。　　It　may　be；　however…　oh；　transporting　and　triumphant　thought！…　thatthe　great…grandchildren　of　the　present　race　may　sometimes　think　kindlyof　the　scribbler　of　bygone　days；　e；among　the　sites　memorable　in　the　towns　history；　shall　point　out　thelocality　of　THE　TOWN　PUMP！

I。　THE　PRISON…DOOR。　　A　THRONG　of　bearded　men；　in　sad…coloured　garments；　and　grey；steeple…crowned　hats；　intermixed　with　women；　some　wearing　hoods；　andothers　bareheaded；　was　assembled　in　front　of　a　wooden　edifice；　thedoor　of　which　was　heavily　timbered　with　oak；　and　studded　with　ironspikes。　　The　founders　of　a　new　colony；　whatever　Utopia　of　human　virtue　andhappiness　they　might　originally　project；　have　invariably　recognised　itamong　their　earliest　practical　necessities　to　allot　a　portion　of　thevirgin　soil　as　a　cemetery；　and　another　portion　as　the　site　of　aprison。　In　accordance　with　this　rule；　it　may　safely　be　assumed　thatthe　forefathers　of　Boston　had　built　the　first　prison…house　somewherein　the　vicinity　of　Cornhill；　almost　as　seasonably　as　they　marked　outthe　first　burial…ground；　on　Isaac　Johnsons　lot；　and　round　about　hisgrave；　e　the　nucleus　of　all　the　congregatedsepulchres　in　the　old　churchyard　of　Kings　Chapel。　Certain　it　is　that；some　fifteen　or　twenty　years　after　the　settlement　of　the　town；　thewooden　jail　was　already　marked　with　weather…stains　and　otherindications　of　age；　which　gave　a　yet　darker　aspect　to　itsbeetle…browed　and　gloomy　front。　The　rust　on　the　ponderous　iron…work　ofits　oaken　door　looked　more　antique　than　anything　else　in　the　NewWorld。　Like　all　that　pertains　to　crime；　it　seemed　never　to　haveknown　a　youthful　era。　Before　this　ugly　edifice；　and　between　it　and　thewheel…track　of　the　street；　was　a　grass…plot；　much　overgrown　withburdock；　pig…weed；　apple…peru；　and　such　unsightly　vegetation；　whichevidently　found　something　congenial　in　the　soil　that　had　so　earlyborne　the　black　flower　of　civilised　society；　a　prison。　But；　on　oneside　of　the　portal；　and　rooted　almost　at　the　threshold；　was　a　wildrose…bush；　covered；　in　this　month　of　June；　with　its　delicate　gems；which　might　be　imagined　to　offer　their　fragrance　and　fragile　beauty　tothe　prisoner　as　he　went　in；　and　to　the　condemned　criminal　as　he　cameforth　to　his　doom；　in　token　that　the　deep　heart　of　Nature　could　pityand　be　kind　to　him。　　This　rose…bush；　by　a　strange　chance；　has　been　kept　alive　in　history；but　whether　it　had　merely　survived　out　of　the　stern　old　wilderness；　solong　after　the　fall　of　the　gigantic　pines　and　oaks　that　originallyovershadowed　it…　or　whether；　as　there　is　fair　authority　for　believing；it　had　sprung　up　under　the　footsteps　of　the　sainted　Ann　Hutchinson；　asshe　entered　the　prison…door…　we　shall　not　take　upon　us　to　determine。Finding　it　so　directly　on　the　threshold　of　our　narrative；　which　is　nowabout　to　issue　from　that　inauspicious　portal；　we　could　hardly　dootherwise　than　pluck　one　of　its　flowers；　and　present　it　to　the　reader。It　may　serve；　let　us　hope；　to　symbolise　some　sweet　moral　blossom；　thatmay　be　found　along　the　track；　or　relieve　the　darkening　close　of　a　taleof　human　frailty　and　sorrow。　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　II。　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　THE　MARKET…PLACE。　　THE　grass…plot　before　the　jail；　in　Prison　Lane；　on　a　certainsummer　morning；　not　less　than　two　centuries　ago；　was　occupied　by　apretty　large　number　of　the　inhabitants　of　Boston；　all　with　theireyes　intently　fastened　on　the　iron…clamped　oaken　door。　Amongst　anyother　population；　or　at　a　later　period　in　the　history　of　NewEngland；　the　grim　rigidity　that　petrified　the　bearded　physiognomies　ofthese　good　people　would　have　augured　some　awful　business　in　hand。　Itcould　have　betokened　nothing　short　of　the　anticipated　execution　ofsome　noted　culprit；　on　whom　the　sentence　of　a　legal　tribunal　had　butconfirmed　the　verdict　of　public　sentiment。　But；　in　that　early　severityof　the　Puritan　character；　an　inference　of　this　kind　could　not　soindubitably　be　drawn。　It　might　be；　that　a　sluggish　bond…servant；　or　anundutiful　child；　whom　his　parents　had　given　over　to　the　civilauthority；　was　to　be　corrected　at　the　whipping…post。　It　might　be；　thatan　Antinomian；　a　Quaker；　or　other　heterodox　religionist；　was　to　bescourged　out　of　the　town；　or　an　idle　and　vagrant　Indian；　whom　thewhite　mans　fire…water　had　made　riotous　about　the　streets；　was　to　bedriven　with　stripes　into　the　shadow　of　the　forest。　It　might　be；　too；that　a　witch；　like　old　Mistress　Hibbins；　the　bitter…tempered　widowof　the　magistrate；　was　to　die　upon　the　gallows。　In　either　case；there　was　very　much　the　same　solemnity　of　demeanour　on　the　part　of　thespectators；　as　befitted　a　people　amongst　whom　religion　and　law　werealmost　identical；　and　in　whose　character　both　were　so　thoroughlyinterfused；　that　the　mildest　and　the　severest　acts　of　publicdiscipline　were　alike　made　venerable　and　awful。　Meagre；　indeed；　andcold；　was　the　sympathy　that　a　transgressor　might　look　for；　from　suchbystanders；　at　the　scaffold。　On　the　other　hand；　a　penalty　which；　inour　days；　would　infer　a　degree　of　mocking　infamy　and　ridicule；　mightthen　be　invested　with　almost　as　stern　a　dignity　as　the　punishment　ofdeath　itself。　　It　was　a　circumstance　to　be　noted；　on　the　summer　morning　when　ourstory　begins　its　course；　that　the　women；　of　whom　there　were　several　inthe　crowd；　appeared　to　take　a　peculiar　interest　in　whatever　penalinfliction　might　be　expected　to　ensue。　The　age　had　not　so　muchrefinement；　that　any　sense　of　impropriety　restrained　the　wearers　ofpetticoat　and　farthingale　from　stepping　forth　into　the　public　ways；and　wedging　their　not　unsubstantial　persons；　if　occasion　were；　intothe　throng　nearest　to　the　scaffold　at　an　execution。　Morally；　as　wellas　materially；　there　was　a　coarser　fibre　in　those　wives　and　maidens　ofold　English　birth　and　breeding；　than　in　their　fair　descendants；separated　from　them　by　a　s

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