eople grew suddenly and mysteriously rich. A great many
of "the first families" of today do not care to trace their pedigree
back to the time when their grandsires owned shares in the Matilda Jane,
twenty-four guns. Well, well!

Few ships come to Rivermouth now. Commerce drifted into other ports. The
phantom fleet sailed off one day, and never came back again. The crazy
old warehouses are empty; and barnacles and eel-grass cling to the piles
of the crumbling wharves, where the sunshine lies lovingly, bringing
out the faint spicy odor that haunts the place--the ghost of the old dead
West India trade! During our ride from the station, I was struck, of
course, only by the general neatness of the houses and the beauty of
the elm-trees lining the streets. I describe Rivermouth now as I came to
know it afterwards.

Rivermouth is a very ancient town. In my day there existed a tradition
among the boys that it was here Christopher Columbus made his first
landing on this continent. I remember having the exact spot pointed out
to me by Pepper Whitcomb! One thing is certain, Captain John Smith, who
afterwards, according to the legend, married Pocahontas--whereby he got
Powhatan for a father-in-law-explored the river in 1614, and was much
charmed by the beauty of Rivermouth, which at that time was covered with
wild strawberry-vines.

Rivermouth figures prominently in all the colonial histories. Every
other house in the place has its tradition more or less grim and
entertaining. If ghosts could flourish anywhere, there are certain
streets in Rivermouth that would be full of them. I don't know of a town
with so many old houses. Let us linger, for a moment, in front of the
one which the Oldest Inhabitant is always sure to point out to the
curious stranger.

It is a square wooden edifice, with gambrel 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 to this house, not because of its age, for
it has not been standing quite a century; nor on account of its
architecture, which is not striking--but because of the illustrious men
who at various periods have occupied its spacious chambers.

In 1770 it was an aristocratic hotel. At the left side of the entrance
stood a high po