SIGHT-SEEING.
“NOW for school, once more!” exclaimed Whistler, as he threw his
well-filled satchel over his back, fifteen minutes before eight o’clock
Monday morning. “Don’t you feel queerly at the beginning of a term? I
do. I’m glad to go to school again, and yet I feel sort of bad, too,
because the vacation is over. I feel worse than usual now, because I
can’t go round with you.”
“You needn’t think of that; I can find my way about town alone,” said
Clinton.
“You can tell about that better to-night,” replied Whistler.
“Well, I won’t crow till I get out of the woods, at any rate,” said
Clinton. “But I’m going with you as far as your schoolhouse,—are you
ready?”
“Yes,—come,” replied Whistler.
[Illustration]
They walked to the schoolhouse, accompanied by Bouncer, and remained
together till the bell summoned Whistler to his seat, and then Clinton
started upon his first exploration, alone. Turning his face towards the
business section of the city, which was in a northerly direction from
his uncle’s house, and occasionally whistling to Bouncer, who was still
looking wistfully towards the schoolhouse, he walked leisurely along,
with the air of one who is determined to see everything that is worth
seeing. Bouncer did not think it worth while to favor him with his
company; but Clinton found plenty of other dogs in his wanderings, of
all sorts and sizes,—quite as many, in fact, as he wished to see. One of
these dogs, which he encountered in a narrow alley, amused him very
much. He was harnessed into a little cart, and trotted along quite
briskly with his load. Two boys accompanied him, who appeared to be
Irish. One of them was quite large, and wore a coat which seemed
intended for his father. He had a little whip, with which he enforced
the orders he was constantly shouting to the dog. The other boy was much
smaller, and ran behind, pushing the cart. The load consisted of several
bundles, tied up in handkerchiefs. They contained dirty clothes, which
the boys were collecting for their mother, who was a washerwoman.
[Illustration]
The next object that attracted Clinton’s notice was a group of busts and
images, arranged upon a board, which a young man carried upon the top of
his head. Clinton thought it rather strange that he should carry so
heavy a burden in such a way; but the images were of plaster, and
hollow, and were much lighter than they appeared. The man was an
Italian; and whenever he met a gentleman, or saw a lady at a window, he
would call out, “E-me-ges!—buy any e-me-ges?” in his most persuasive
tone. He was a mild-eyed, dark-complexioned man, not very neat in his
personal appearance, and his clothing was a good deal be-patched, as you
will see by the engraving.
In the course of the morning an incident happened to Clinton which made
him smile many a time during the day, as it came to mind. In passing a
shop, in front of which several birds were hung out in cages, he noticed
that the door of one cage was open, and that its tenant was on the
outside, apparently meditating a flight. The bird was nearly the size of
a pigeon, but he did not know what it was. Stepping into the shop, he
said:
“One of your birds has got his cage door open, sir, and is hopping all
around outside.”
“I know it,—but he won’t go off,” replied the man. “We leave the door
open purposely, and let him have the run; he never leaves the premises.”
“O, I didn’t think of that,” stammered Clinton, a slight blush mantling
his cheeks.
“Never mind; I’m just as much obliged to you as though he _had_ broken
out,” added the man. “You intended to do an act of kindness, and you
ought to have the credit of it. Won’t you walk in and look at the birds?
We’ve got a pretty large collection.”
Clinton thankfully accepted the invitation, and found a large room
entirely filled with birds, this being the sole article in which the man
dealt. The collection embraced birds of almost every description, from
an eagle to a Java sparrow. Many of them were very rare and beautiful.
The singing birds seemed to vie with one another, to see which should
make the loudest noise; and the deafening clatter was by no means
improved by the occasional rough and discordant note of some unmusical
member of the family. In addition to the living birds, there were also
many stuffed ones, for the owner of the collection was a taxidermist. A
taxidermist is one who is skilled in preparing and preserving the skins
of birds, or other animals, so as to represent their natural appearance.
After walking an hour or more about the business portion of the city,
examining the sights in a leisurely way, Clinton suddenly found himself
approaching the beautiful Common, of which Boston is justly proud. It
took him some time to reconcile his mind to its unexpected location, for
it seemed to him that he ought to be going from it instead of towards
it. However, there it was, and there was no disputing that. And he was
not very sorry, either, for he began to feel tired, and there are plenty
of seats and acres of soft grass on the Common. Entering the grounds at
the gate opposite Park-street Church, he threw himself upon the grass,
in the shade of a large tree, on a spot which commanded a view of the
greater part of the enclosure.
The Common contains forty-eight acres, the surface of which is agreeably
diversified, much of it being broken into gentle swells. A vast amount
of money has been expended in beautifying it. A tall and handsome iron
fence surrounds it, which is nearly six thousand feet long, and cost
upwards of a hundred thousand dollars. Nicely gravelled walks, shaded by
trees, run around the enclosure, and cross it in various directions.
These walks are lit by gas, at night. The trees number nearly two
thousand, and comprise eighteen or twenty varieties, but about half of
them are elms. Scattered over the Common are several cast-iron hydrants,
from which streams of Cochituate water are always flowing, for the
refreshment of the thirsty. There is also a beautiful pond,—the “Frog
Pond” of olden times,—which is supplied with one of the finest fountains
on the continent.
Such was the scene spread out before Clinton, as he sat upon the grass.
Add to the picture the scattered groups of well-dressed people who were
threading the walks or lounging on the seats, the merry children
gambolling upon the grass, and the birds flitting among the trees, and
you have made up a sight well worth seeing.
As Clinton sat enjoying the scene, a huge column of water suddenly burst
forth from the pond, with a noise plainly perceptible, even at his
distance from it. It was the fountain. Forgetting everything else, he
ran with all speed towards it, for he had never seen it; and, as it was
allowed to play but seldom, owing to a scarcity of water at that time,
he had hardly dared to hope that his curiosity would be gratified. His
haste was needless, however, for it kept on playing, and he had ample
leisure to examine and enjoy it. It sent up a tall jet, which tapered
almost to a point, while a cloud of spray and vapor rose from the base.
The water sparkled gloriously in the sunlight, and the hues of the
rainbow danced among the mists. Clinton sat down under a tree, and drank
to his fill of the beautiful scene.
[Illustration]
This fountain has a dozen or more different jets. The highest one rises
to the height of ninety-eight feet, under favorable circumstances, and
is fed through an open pipe three inches in diameter. A pipe six inches
in diameter throws the water about eighty feet high. Another, with the
whole breadth of twelve inches, reaches but about forty feet. There is a
jet which is set at an angle, designed to play against the wind. There
are also jets which represent a variety of figures. One is called the
“willow,” from its resemblance to that tree. Another is the “lily,”
which sends out three side jets, representing the petals, and an upright
one in the centre, forming the pointal of the flower. Another is the
“vase,” and very graceful and picturesque it is. The amount of water
consumed by the fountain when it is in play is almost incredible. The
water rushes out with immense force; and some of the larger jets, if
kept in operation perpetually, would nearly or quite exhaust the regular
daily supply from Lake Cochituate. Of course the luxury can be indulged
in only occasionally, and for a few hours at a time.
As Clinton sat gazing at the fountain, the majestic column of water
began to falter, and almost instantly lowered its proud crest and
disappeared, leaving no trace of the fountain but the iron pipe through
which it gushed forth. The man who had charge of it had shut off the
water, which is done by means of a stop-cock near the pond. He soon
after appeared, walking through the pond, towards the fountain. He wore
a pair of high, water-proof boots; and, as there was a series of stone
blocks from the border of the pond to the fountain, sunk but a few
inches under water, for him to walk upon, he got along very comfortably.
Having removed the mouth-piece of the fountain, he screwed on another
one, and returned. In a few moments the water burst forth in a new
shape. There were a number of small jets arranged in a circle, each jet
taking an outward direction. The water formed a graceful curve, as it
rounded over towards the lake; and though it was not so lofty and
imposing as the other jet, it was in some respects more beautiful.
The fountain at length stopped playing, and Clinton, after watching a
while some boats which boys were sailing on the pond, started off in
quest of new sights. He first paid a visit to the great elm tree, near
the pond, admired its magnificent proportions, read its brief and
imperfect history, as inscribed on a tablet inserted in the iron fence
which surrounds it, and mused on the stirring scenes it had looked down
upon during the lapse of two hundred years. While thus engaged, he came
in contact with a quiet, modest-looking lad, of about his own age, who
seemed to be engaged in the same pursuit as himself—sight-seeing. A
mutual feeling of lonesomeness, or an intuitive perception of sympathy
and congeniality of character, or some other attractive principle,
seemed to draw them together, at first sight, and they were soon engaged
in conversation. In a short time Clinton had learned from his new
acquaintance that his name was Henry; that he came from the country, to
get a situation as apprentice, or clerk, but had not yet succeeded; and
that he had two older brothers in Boston, with whom he was staying.
“Have you been up to the top of the State House?” inquired Henry, as
Clinton began to look about for some new object of interest.
“No,” replied Clinton; “have you?”
“Yes, I went up last week with my brother,” said Henry. “Come, let’s go
up now,—I should like to go again, and I can promise you it’s a splendid
sight.”
“Come on, then,—it’s just where I want to go,” said Clinton, much
pleased that he was to have a companion in making the toilsome ascent.
So they passed on, through the spacious front yard, with its many
flights of stone steps; paused a moment to look at the fountains in
front of the capitol; paid a visit to the marble statue of Washington,
in the alcove opening from Doric Hall; inspected such portions of the
building as were open to the public; and then began their long journey
to the lantern which surmounts the dome. Up, up, up they went, through
the state’s great garret, with its interminable stairs, its dreary
passages, its venerable dust and cobwebs, and its hot and stifling
atmosphere. Now they are in the great dome, whose huge frame-work
encompasses them on every side, and fills the mind with something like
awe. And now the light increases—they breathe easier. They have ascended
the last of the one hundred and seventy steps; they are two hundred and
thirty feet above the level of the sea.
Clinton found that the lantern of the dome, which looked so small from
the street, was in reality a room of pretty good size. It was a museum
of autographs,—every place where it was possible to write, scratch or
cut a name, having been improved by the hundreds of thousands who have
visited this favorite resort of strangers. But the inside attractions
did not long detain the boys from the magnificent scene without.
Clinton’s exclamations, as his young companion hurried him from one
window to another, were few and brief, but by no means tame or
inexpressive. There lay the Common at his feet, looking like a
garden-patch of moderate size. The horses and carriages in the streets
seemed to be but baby toys, and the people were like ants creeping over
the ground. The city spread itself out on every side, with its long
lines of brick walls and slated roofs, and its innumerable steeples,
towers and cupolas, all compactly wedged together. Outside of this
shapeless mass of brick and stone was a line of water, which nearly
surrounded the city. A part of the way it was a narrow ribbon, crossed
by numerous bridges, over some of which railway trains were slowly
crawling, like caterpillars. Towards the east, however, the shore was
fringed with a forest of masts, and the waters stretched outward into
the great ocean, and the gleaming of white canvas could be seen, far
beyond the green islands that guard the entrance of the harbor. To the
landward were to be seen cities and villages, hills, fields and forests,
extending for many miles. The boys felt that but two things were
wanting, and these were, a good spy-glass, and some one, familiar with
the ground, to point out and name the various objects of interest that
were spread before them.
After stopping more than half an hour in the lantern, Clinton and Henry
commenced the descent. It was nearly noon when they reached the street;
and, as Clinton had a long distance to go, and was not familiar with the
way, he soon parted with his companion, whose stopping-place lay in
another direction, and set his face towards the South End. He trudged
along carelessly, until he thought he must be in the neighborhood of the
street where his uncle lived. And now he tried to find his bearings, but
without success. Nothing looked familiar. He was in a maze. But, as he
always preferred to solve his own difficulties, rather than have others
help him out of them, he determined that he would make no inquiries so
long as there was a chance of finding his way out. Pretty soon he came
out on an avenue, which he knew must be Washington Street, from its
appearance. Now he felt that he had got a clew that would enable him to
find his uncle’s house. He walked along for nearly half a mile, but
could not find the street for which he was looking. He was beginning to
feel some misgivings, when he came in sight of a steeple on which the
points of the compass were indicated, and he discovered that instead of
going south he was actually heading towards the north. He also
recognized the church as the Old South, and he was, consequently,
further from his destination than when he left the Common. The sun was
so nearly overhead that it did not afford him much aid in directing his
course, and he had therefore trusted to instinct, which, in the human
kind, is not always a very safe guide.
Of course Clinton faced about and retraced his steps. The dinner hour
was at hand; and, wisely concluding that he had experimented enough for
one day in the navigation of unknown streets, he inquired his way, and
at length reached his uncle’s, faint and weary with his forenoon’s
adventures. His account of his walk from the State House furnished
considerable merriment to the family. Whistler declared that he was
about to go after the city crier, and tell him to cry, “A child lost,
about fourteen years old,” &c., &c.; while Mr. Davenport, who always had
a story ready, said that Clinton was almost as bad as an old Quaker he
once knew, who used to come to Boston occasionally with a load of
chairs, and who would sometimes get so bewildered by the hubbub and
confusion of the city, as to go up three or four flights of stairs, into
the attic, to find his way to the street! He also related the case of a
little Irish boy, who landed in Boston from an emigrant ship, and
actually became insane from bewilderment. The little fellow, who was but
thirteen years old, had no friends here but a brother, who came over a
short time before. Confused by the strangeness, and, to his eyes, the
magnificence of the city, which for weeks had been the culminating point
of his anticipations, he wandered about, gazing upon the novelties by
day, and dreaming of them by night, until he believed himself the
inhabitant of a fairy-land, and could not recognize the brother whose
bed he shared; “for,” said he, “he was dressed so nice, and we used n’t
to be so at home.” Reason soon fled, and for weeks he by turns babbled
like a child and raved like a madman. He was taken to the lunatic
hospital, and it took several weeks to cure him.
------------------------------------------------------------------------