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��A DAY AT OLD KITTERY.
��silver plate and rare old China. Wine a hundred years old from the delicate, spi- cy brands of Rhineland to the fiery Tus- can, was in his cellars. He kept a coach with six white horses. A retinue of slaves and hired menials looked to hiui as their lord, and he had a barge upon the river, in which he was rowed by a crew of Africans m gaudy uniforms. The on- ly man in all the colonies worth two hundred thousand pounds sterling, reign- ing grandly over grand estates, for, like an English peer, he might have travelled all day long upon his own lands, sove- reign lord, in fact, if not in name, of more than five hundred thousand acres — timber, plain and valley, in New Hamp- shire and Maine — Sir William Pepperell could do this and yet not live beyond his means.
The memory of all this baronial mag- nificence fills the mind as you stand be- fore the old mansion where he lived, or at the Knight's tomb in the orchard across the road, a few hundred yards from the goodly residence that he built. Faded is the escutcheon on the marble tombstone. p curtailed of its fair propor- tions, and sadly decayed is the grand old mansion, but they recall visions of splen- dor still. The house looks down from its three story grandeur with scorn upon its humble and more modern neighbors, and well it may. Its experiences have been unique. British Admirals, belted Earls, grave statesmen, and the noblest chivalry of the old and the new world have abode under its roof. Its master was one of the most brilliant personages of his gen- eration : and although the famous men who came after him, Langdon, Washing- ton, Adams, Franklin and Livingston, with many others — figured in greater ovents, still the name and memory of Sir William Pepperell are well nigh as fa- mous as those of the Dii majous of our history.
Half a mile to the West is another fa- mous old mansion, the Sparhawk House, built by Lord Pepperell in 1741, for his daughter, who married Col. Sparhawk. This structure is in better repair than the other, and is one of the stateliest houses of that age in America. Its great parlor is thirty by twenty feet, and very high
��posted. The other rooms are smaller but stately. The orginal paper remains on the walls of the wide hall, as do the deer antlers above the doors. The ob- servatory upon the roof affords a fine view of the surrounding country. A no- ble avenue of elms, a quarter of a mile in length, formerly led from the street to the door. The trees were about one rod apart. The perspective effect of this grand avenue must have been peculiarly graceful and impressive. Some vandal , cut down the trees twenty-five years ago. But no one can destroy the beauty of the noble site on which the mansion stands. James T. Fields has lately endeavored, among others, to purchase it for a sum- mer residence.
We pass from the atmosphere of these ancient structures once more into the light and life of the sea-port town. A change has taken place during eur ab- sence among the memories of the past. For the first time, Ave are reminded of the fact that Kittery has claims as a pop- ular summer resort. Yes, the old town has Rip Van Winkled into life again, ac- quiring fresh fame in its new dignity. It is now four o'clock in the afternoon, and the quaint streets have become a sort of Hyde Park. Fxuestrians and carriages dash thither and hither, making a pleas- ant and brilliant promenade. The friends who breakfasted togethe.r a few hours be- fore, have now the satisfaction to bow to each other from barouches or from the saddle. The lovely ladies who wore bowling costumes this morning, wear driving costumes this afternoon, and to- night they will flaunt gaudy ball-room attire. How they smile and bow ! How the ribbons flutter and the gloves glitter ! The air is soft and mild. The music from a brass band chimes pleasantly on the ear. Over all shines the warm sun, from a spotless sky.
But all this bustle and gaiety and splen- dor is far apart from the life of the town. It preserves its indomitable repose des- pite the fury of the brief summer episode of excitement around it with a smile of scorn as it were. For one short month the saturnalia of fashion reels along its wide beach, and holds high festival in the very heart of its quaintness, but dur-
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