pe of a
crescent, along the banks of the majestic river.

I soon grew tired of looking at the masses of houses, rising above one
another in irregular tiers, and was glad my father did not propose
to remain long in Boston. As I leaned over the rail in this mood, a
measly-looking little boy with no shoes said that if I would come down
on the wharf he'd lick me for two cents--not an exorbitant price. But I
didn't go down. I climbed into the rigging, and stared at him. This, as
I was rejoiced to observe, so exasperated him that he stood on his head
on a pile of boards, in order to pacify himself.

The first train for Rivermouth left at noon. After a late breakfast
on board the Typhoon, our trunks were piled upon a baggage-wagon, and
ourselves stowed away in a coach, which must have turned at least one
hundred corners before it set us down at the railway station.

In less time than it takes to tell it, we were shooting across the
country at a fearful rate--now clattering over a bridge, now screaming
through a tunnel; here we cut a flourishing village in two, like a
knife, and here we dived into the shadow of a pine forest. Sometimes
we glided along the edge of the ocean, and could see the sails of ships
twinkling like bits of silver against the horizon; sometimes we dashed
across rocky pasture-lands where stupid-eyed cattle were loafing. It was
fun to scare lazy-looking cows that lay round in groups under the newly
budded trees near the railroad track.

We did not pause at any of the little brown stations on the route (they
looked just like overgrown black-walnut clocks), though at every one of
them a man popped out as if he were worked by machinery, and waved a red
flag, and appeared as though he would like to have us stop. But we were
an express train, and made no stoppages, excepting once or twice to give
the engine a drink. It is strange how the memory clings to some things.
It is over twenty years since I took that first ride to Rivermouth,
and yet, oddly enough, I remember as if it were yesterday, that, as we
passed slowly through the village of Hampton, we saw two boys fighting
behind a red barn. There was also a shaggy yellow dog, who looked as
if he had commenced to unravel, barking himself all up into a knot with
excitement. We had only a hurried glimpse of the battle--long enough,
however, to see that the combatants were equally matched and very much
in earnest. I am ashamed to say how many times since I have s