s of another American town, my
own dear native place, when I saw the seafaring people leaning against
posts, and sitting on planks, under the lee of warehouses,--or lolling on
long-boats, drawn up high and dry, as sailors and old wharf-rats are
accustomed to do, in seaports of little business. In other respects, the
English town is more village-like than either of the American ones. The
women and budding girls chat together at their doors, and exchange merry
greetings with young men; children chase one another in the summer
twilight; school-boys sail little boats on the river, or play at marbles
across the flat tombstones in the churchyard; and ancient men, in breeches
and long waistcoats, wander slowly about the streets, with a certain
familiarity of deportment, as if each one were everybody's grandfather. I
have frequently observed, in old English towns, that Old Age comes forth
more cheerfully, and genially into the sunshine than among ourselves,
where the rush, stir, bustle, and irreverent energy of youth are so
preponderant, that the poor, forlorn grandsires begin to doubt whether
they have a right to breathe in such a world any longer, and so hide their
silvery heads in solitude. Speaking of old men, I am reminded of the
scholars of the Boston Charity-School, who walk about in antique,
long-skirted blue coats, and knee-breeches, and with bands at their
necks,--perfect and grotesque pictures of the costume of three centuries
ago.

On the morning of our departure, I looked from the parlor-window of the
Peacock into the market-place, and beheld its irregular square already
well-covered with booths, and more in process of being put up, by
stretching tattered sail-cloth on poles. It was market-day. The dealers
were arranging their commodities, consisting chiefly of vegetables, the
great bulk of which seemed to be cabbages. Later in the forenoon there was
a much greater variety of merchandise: basket-work, both for fancy and
use; twig-brooms, beehives, oranges, rustic attire; all sorts of things,
in short, that are commonly sold at a rural fair. I heard the lowing of
cattle, too, and the bleating of sheep, and found that there was a market
for cows, oxen, and pigs, in another part of the town. A crowd of
towns-people and Lincolnshire yeomen elbowed one another in the square;
Mr. Punch was squeaking in one corner, and a vagabond juggler tried to
find space for his exhibition in another: so that my final glimpse of
Boston