in
those days, thank Heaven!

Great were the bustle and confusion on the Square. By the way, I don't
know why they called this large open space a square, unless because it
was an oval--an oval formed by the confluence of half a dozen streets,
now thronged by crowds of smartly dressed towns-people and country
folks; for Rivermouth on the Fourth was the centre of attraction to the
inhabitants of the neighboring villages.

On one side of the Square were twenty or thirty booths arranged in
a semi-circle, gay with little flags and seductive with lemonade,
ginger-beer, and seedcakes. Here and there were tables at which could be
purchased the smaller sort of fireworks, such as pin-wheels, serpents,
double-headers, and punk warranted not to go out. Many of the adjacent
houses made a pretty display of bunting, and across each of the streets
opening on the Square was an arch of spruce and evergreen, blossoming
all over with patriotic mottoes and paper roses.

It was a noisy, merry, bewildering scene as we came upon the ground. The
incessant rattle of small arms, the booming of the twelve-pounder firing
on the Mill Dam, and the silvery clangor of the church-bells ringing
simultaneously--not to mention an ambitious brass-band that was blowing
itself to pieces on a balcony--were enough to drive one distracted. We
amused ourselves for an hour or two, darting in and out among the crowd
and setting off our crackers. At one o'clock the Hon. Hezekiah Elkins
mounted a platform in the middle of the Square and delivered an oration,
to which his "feller-citizens" didn't pay much attention, having all
they could do to dodge the squibs that were set loose upon them by
mischievous boys stationed on the surrounding housetops.

Our little party which had picked up recruits here and there, not being
swayed by eloquence, withdrew to a booth on the outskirts of the crowd,
where we regaled ourselves with root beer at two cents a glass. I
recollect being much struck by the placard surmounting this tent:

ROOT BEER

SOLD HERE

It seemed to me the perfection of pith and poetry. What could be more
terse? Not a word to spare, and yet everything fully expressed. Rhyme
and rhythm faultless. It was a delightful poet who made those verses. As
for the beer itself--that, I think, must have been made from the root
of all evil! A single glass of it insured an uninterrupted pain for
twenty-four hours.

The influence of my liberality working on Charley M