llect the driving storm which continued for days and piled
its accumulating heaps against the front of our dwelling-place, so as
entirely to cover the windows of the lower story of the house, and to
rise above the main door which was of ordinary height, and that at length
we were released from this imprisonment by means of an archway to that
entrance, dug through the drift by the friendly efforts of an opposite
neighbor.[1]

Our deliverer was a superannuated seaman; inspired partly, no doubt, by
the good-heartedness formerly, at least, thought to be characteristic of
that class of men, and, partly, by respect for the memory of my father,
who had been dead for some years, in the early prime of life, leaving
behind him the best of reputations as a shipmaster and a man. Perhaps Tom
Trudge had, at some time, sailed under him. I well remember the
triumphant air with which this ancient mariner introduced himself into
the kitchen, where all the family was assembled, doffing his tarpaulin,
flourishing his shovel, and cutting one or two capers, in token of his
hilarity at the accomplishment of his somewhat arduous job. Of course,
there were profuse thanks and congratulations on the occasion; but I
recollect only, that, after the second glass of grog furnished by my
mother,--a refreshment to which Tom was only too partial,--he executed
another spring from the floor, snapped his fingers and cried, "Tired,
ma'am!--not a bit of it! For all I've done to-day, by the blessed
binnacle I should think nothing at all of jumping over a meetin-us,--yes,
a meetin-us, ma'am!" to the amazement, at the idea of such a feat, of
certainly all the younger fry who were present at the ceremony.

The town in which we lived was one of the very oldest of the New England
settlements. Its situation is uncommonly beautiful, upon a slope
descending from a moderately elevated ridge towards the bank of a noble
river, which of late years has furnished more motive power to various
manufacturing establishments in the towns and villages, which have sprung
up on its borders, than any other stream in the world. At the time of
which I write, there was not a mill throughout its whole extent. It is
told, that Louis Philippe, when a fugitive in this country, in his youth,
passing up the road which leads mostly along the margin of the river to a
point where the first falls interrupt the navigation, pronounced the
scenery the most beautiful he had ever seen. The river was