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staccato notes of a vanished summer-第2章

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itself; the seafaring housekeeping of New England is not of the
insatiable Dutch type which will not spare the stones of the highway; but
within the houses are of almost terrifying cleanliness。  The other day I
found myself in a kitchen where the stove shone like oxidized silver; the
pump and sink were clad in oilcloth as with blue tiles; the walls were
papered; the stainless floor was strewn with home…made hooked and braided
rugs; and I felt the place so altogether too good for me that I pleaded
to stay there for the transaction of my business; lest a sharper sense of
my unfitness should await me in the parlor。

The village; with scarcely an interval of farm…lands; stretches four
miles along the water…side to Portsmouth; but it seems to me that just at
the point where our lines have fallen there is the greatest concentration
of its character。  This has apparently not been weakened; it has been
accented; by the trolley…line which passes through its whole length; with
gayly freighted cars coming and going every half…hour。  I suppose they
are not longer than other trolley…cars; but they each affect me like a
procession。  They are cheerful presences by day; and by night they light
up the dim; winding street with the flare of their electric bulbs; and
bring to the country a vision of city splendor upon terms that do not
humiliate or disquiet。  During July and August they are mostly filled
with summer folks from a great summer resort beyond us; and their lights
reveal the pretty fashions of hats and gowns in all the charm of the
latest lines and tints。  But there is an increasing democracy in these
splendors; and one might easily mistake a passing excursionist from some
neighboring inland town; or even a local native with the instinct of
clothes; for a social leader from York Harbor。

With the falling leaf; the barge…like open cars close up into well…warmed
saloons; and falter to hourly intervals in their course。  But we are
still far from the falling leaf; we are hardly come to the blushing or
fading leaf。  Here and there an impassioned maple confesses the autumn;
the ancient Pepperrell elms fling down showers of the baronet's fairy
gold in the September gusts; the sumacs and the blackberry vines are
ablaze along the tumbling black stone walls; but it is still summer; it
is still summer: I cannot allow otherwise!




III。

The other day I visited for the first time (in the opulent indifference
of one who could see it any time) the stately tomb of the first
Pepperrell; who came from Cornwall to these coasts; and settled finally
at Kittery Point。  He laid there the foundations of the greatest fortune
in colonial New England; which revolutionary New England seized and
dispersed; as I cannot but feel; a little ruthlessly。  In my personal
quality I am of course averse to all great fortunes; and in my civic
capacity I am a patriot。  But still I feel a sort of grace in wealth a
century old; and if I could now have my way; I would not have had their
possessions reft from those kindly Pepperrells; who could hardly help
being loyal to the fountain of their baronial honors。  Sir William;
indeed; had helped; more than any other man; to bring the people who
despoiled him to a national consciousness。  If he did not imagine; he
mainly managed the plucky New England expedition against Louisbourg at
Cape Breton a half century before the War of Independence; and his
splendid success in rending that stronghold from the French taught the
colonists that they were Americans; and need be Englishmen no longer than
they liked。  His soldiers were of the stamp of all succeeding American
armies; and his leadership was of the neighborly and fatherly sort
natural to an amiable man who knew most of them personally。  He was
already the richest man in America; and his grateful king made him a
baronet; but he came contentedly back to Kittery; and took up his old
life in a region where he had the comfortable consideration of an
unrivalled magnate。  He built himself the dignified mansion which still
stands across the way from the post…office on Kittery Point; within an
easy stone's cast of the far older house; where his father wedded Margery
Bray; when he came; a thrifty young Welsh fisherman; from the Isles of
Shoals; and established his family on Kittery。  The Bray house had been
the finest in the region a hundred years before the Pepperrell mansion
was built; it still remembers its consequence in the panelling and
wainscoting of the large; square parlor where the young people were
married and in the elaborate staircase cramped into the little; square
hall; and the Bray fortune helped materially to swell the wealth of the
Pepperrells。

I do not know that I should care now to have a man able to ride thirty
miles on his own land; but I do not mind Sir William's having done it
here a hundred and fifty years ago; and I wish the confiscations had left
his family; say; about a mile of it。  They could now; indeed; enjoy it
only in the collateral branches; for all Sir William's line is extinct。
The splendid mansion which he built his daughter is in alien hands; and
the fine old house which Lady Pepperrell built herself after his death
belongs to the remotest of kinsmen。  A group of these; the descendants of
a prolific sister of the baronet; meets every year at Kittery Point as
the Pepperrell Association; and; in a tent hard by the little grove of
drooping spruces which shade the admirable renaissance cenotaph of Sir
William's father; cherishes the family memories with due American
〃proceedings。〃




IV。

The meeting of the Pepperrell Association was by no means the chief
excitement of our summer。  In fact; I do not know that it was an
excitement at all; and I am sure it was not comparable to the presence of
our naval squadron; when for four days the mighty dragon and kraken
shapes of steel; which had crumbled the decrepit pride of Spain in the
fight at Santiago; weltered in our peaceful waters; almost under my
window。

I try now to dignify them with handsome epithets; but while they were
here I had moments of thinking they looked like a lot of whited
locomotives; which had broken through from some trestle; in a recent
accident; and were waiting the offices of a wrecking…train。  The poetry
of the man…of…war still clings to the 〃three…decker out of the foam〃 of
the past; it is too soon yet for it to have cast a mischievous halo about
the modern battle…ship; and I looked at the New York and the Texas and
the Brooklyn and the rest; and thought; 〃Ah; but for you; and our need of
proving your dire efficiency; perhaps we could have got on with the
wickedness of Spanish rule in Cuba; and there had been no war!〃  Under my
reluctant eyes the great; dreadful spectacle of the Santiago fight
displayed itself in peaceful Kittery Harbor。  I saw the Spanish ships
drive upon the reef where a man from Dover; New Hampshire; was camping in
a little wooden shanty unconscious; and I heard the dying screams of the
Spanish sailors; seethed and scalded within the steel walls of their own
wicked war…kettles。

As for the guns; battle or no battle; our ships; like 〃kind Lieutenant
Be
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