IN THE MOUNT HOPE LANDS 71 



train from Boston, and was driven to my 

 " stopping-place," Mrs. 's, by a re- 

 tired sea-captain in a rickety carryall, — 

 one of those delightful conveyances whose 

 front seat has to be tilted forward to allow 

 one to get in ; and, no matter how well 

 you know it must be tilted back again for 

 your exit, you always endeavor to get out 

 beforehand. I occupied one of the back 



rooms at Mrs. 's, which looked out 



upon a decidedly primitive garden, whose 

 currant bushes were already in leaf, and 

 where one lone box-bush marked the 

 right angle of an extinct hedge. On m,y 



left at the table sat Mrs. 's daughter, 



Scylla, and it pleased me to imagine that 



the name of Mrs. , who sat on my 



right, might be Charybdis.. 



Shortly after arriving I started down 

 Hope Street out of the town, past the 

 HerreshofF Works, which have in the 

 past few years' made this historic little 

 town more famous, and joined the Ferry 

 road. A fishhawk, the bird emblem of 

 Bristol, sailed over me " on his way a-fish- 

 ing" in Walker's Cove. From the mead- 

 ows that stretch down to the bay the 

 plaintive whistle of the meadow lark 



