ens into the orchard, through which a path descends to
the river. In the second story we have at present fitted up three rooms,
one being our own chamber, and the opposite one a guest-chamber, which
contains the most presentable of the old Doctor's ante-Revolutionary
furniture. After all, the moderns have invented nothing better, as
chamber furniture, than these chests of drawers, which stand on four
slender legs, and rear an absolute tower of mahogany to the ceiling, the
whole terminating in a fantastically carved summit. Such a venerable
structure adorns our guest-chamber. In the rear of the house is the
little room which I call my study, and which, in its day, has witnessed
the intellectual labors of better students than myself. It contains,
with some additions and alterations, the furniture of my bachelor-room
in Boston; but there is a happier disposal of things now. There is a
little vase of flowers on one of the book-cases, and a larger bronze
vase of graceful ferns that surmounts the bureau. In size the room is
just what it ought to be; for I never could compress my thoughts
sufficiently to write in a very spacious room. It has three windows, two
of which are shaded by a large and beautiful willow-tree, which sweeps
against the overhanging eaves. On this side we have a view into the
orchard, and beyond, a glimpse of the river. The other window is the one
from which Mr. Emerson, the predecessor of Dr. Ripley, beheld the first
fight of the Revolution,--which he might well do, as the British troops
were drawn up within a hundred yards of the house; and on looking forth,
just now, I could still perceive the western abutments of the old
bridge, the passage of which was contested. The new monument is visible
from base to summit.

Notwithstanding all we have done to modernize the old place, we seem
scarcely to have disturbed its air of antiquity. It is evident that
other wedded pairs have spent their honeymoons here, that children have
been born here, and people have grown old and died in these rooms,
although for our behoof the same apartments have consented to look
cheerful once again. Then there are dark closets, and strange nooks and
corners, where the ghosts of former occupants might hide themselves in
the daytime, and stalk forth when night conceals all our sacrilegious
improvements. We have seen no apparitions as yet; but we hear strange
noises, especially in the kitchen, and last night, while sitting in the
parl