er
glance every feature of the scene. To her eyes, accustomed to the broad,
open, leisurely streets of the Cape Cod hamlet, its isolated little houses
with their trim flower-beds in front and their punctiliously kept fences
and gates, this somewhat untidy and huddled town looked unattractive. The
hotel stood on the top of one of the plateaus of which I spoke in the last
chapter. The ground fell away slowly to the east and to the south. A
poorly kept, oblong-shaped "common," some few acres in extent, lay just in
front of the hotel: it had once been fenced in; but the fences were sadly
out of repair, and two cows were grazing there this morning, as
composedly as if there were no town ordinance forbidding all running of
cattle in the streets. A few shabby old farm-wagons stood here and there
by these fences; the sleepy horses which had drawn them thither having
been taken out of the shafts, and tethered in some mysterious way to the
hinder part of the wagons. A court was in session; and these were the
wagons of lawyers and clients, alike humble in their style of equipage. On
the left-hand side of the hotel, down the eastern slope of the hill ran an
irregular block of brick buildings, no two of a height or size, The block
had burned down in spots several times, and each owner had rebuilt as much
or as little as he chose, which had resulted in as incoherent a bit of
architecture as is often seen. The general effect, however, was of a
tendency to a certain parallelism with the ground line: so that the block
itself seemed to be sliding down hill; the roof of the building farthest
east being not much above the level of the first story windows in the
building farthest west. To add to the queerness of this "Brick Row," as it
was called, the ingenuity of all the sign-painters of the region had been
called into requisition. Signs alphabetical, allegorical, and symbolic;
signs in black on white, in red on black, in rainbow colors on tin; signs
high up, and signs low down; signs swung, and signs posted,--made the
whole front of the Row look at a little distance like a wall of
advertisements of some travelling menagerie. There was a painted yellow
horse with a fiery red mane, which was the pride of the heart of Seth
Nims, the livery-stable keeper; and a big black dog's head with a gay
collar of scarlet and white morocco, which was supposed to draw the custom
of all owners of dogs to "John Locker, harness-maker." There was a
barber's pol