444 FRANCIS PARKMAN. 



of Conflict" he mentions that he wrote at least part of his story of 

 Sir William Pepperell's conquest of Louisbourg in the old house 

 that in Pepperell's clay was the county seat of Penning Wentworth, 

 Governor of New Hampshire. Then he goes on to write some 

 pleasant descriptions of the country about the mouth of the Piscata- 

 qua. The old Wentworth house, some few years ago, passed into the 

 possession of Mr. Parkman's son in law. Mr. Parkman found the 

 region pleasant and restful. He slept there more soundly than else- 

 where. So he would come and stay there for weeks at a time ; and 

 there as a neighbor, I saw him constantly. 



The old house is a large, rambling structure, absolutely without the 

 pseudo-classic dignity and proportion which distinguish most of the 

 architecture of Colonial New England, and for that very reason it is 

 perhaps the most romantic, unexpected mansion which has survived 

 here from the time of George II. It lies rather low on a point of 

 land which separates Little Harbor — the smaller of the two outlets 

 of the Piscataqua — from a tidal creek that runs two or three miles 

 inland, to lose itself in salt meadows. When the tide is low, creek and 

 harbor alike are almost dry ; but when the tide is high there is no bet- 

 ter water anywhere for rowing and sailing ; and the constant variety of 

 aspect which comes from this daily contrast combines with the romantic 

 air of the old house, half hidden by lilac bushes almost as old as itself, 

 to give the region a charm peculiarly its own. 



In this environment, so pleasantly fitting for the historian whose 

 chief work dealt with the colonial times of whose memory the region 

 is full, Mr. Parkman was seen oftenest, perhaps, in a character as 

 remote as possible from the humdrum dignity of history. While he 

 was rarely able to walk much, his arms and chest were generally 

 in prime condition. On crutches, or at best with the help of a cane, 

 he would come briskly down to the pier, where a small fleet of small 

 boats was constantly lying ; he would seat himself in a queer, non- 

 descript little row-boat made to suit him by a local genius ; and he 

 would pull himself about for hours at a time, or perhaps anchor him- 

 self and fish contentedly, as long as the tide served, for small cod or 

 perch. His personal appearance at these moments may be inferred 

 from an incident that amused him one day. At some little distance 

 from home he observed a fisherman hauling in lobster-pots, and row- 

 ing alongside to watch his luck, was much impressed by the man's stal- 

 wart honesty in carefully measuring every lobster with a foot rule, and 

 throwing overboard all that were not indubitably of full legal size. 

 After a friendly interview, the couple parted company. A few days 



