building, congratulated themselves that they had had such good success in getting all the stone they needed for that building, as it was exceedingly doubtful, they remarked, whether the whole country could be made to furnish stone for another structure of equal extent. The interior of the house is quite in keeping with the promise of its exterior. The dimensions of the plan are fifty-six feet front by thirty-eight feet in depth. A nobly panelled hall, containing a broad staircase with carved and twisted balusters, divides the house in the centre, and extends completely through on both stories from front to rear. On the landing, somewhat more than half-way up the staircase, is a circular headed window looking into the garden, and fitted with deep-panelled shutters, and with a broad and capacious window-seat, on which the active merchant of 1740 doubtless often sat down to cool himself in the draught, after some particularly vexatious morning's work with poor Glin's" Plumb Trees and Hollys." On this landing, too, stood formerly a famous eight-day clock, which has now disappeared, no one knows whither. But the order for its purchase is before us in the old letter-book, and will serve to give a very graphic idea of its unusual attractions. The order is addressed, as usual, to Mr. Wilks, and bears date December 20th, 1738. As the safe reception of the time-piece is acknowledged in a subsequent letter, there can be little doubt as to its identity. - on "I Desire the favour of you to procure for me & Send with my Spring Goods, a Handsome Chiming Clock of the newest fashion, the work neat & Good, with a Good black Walnutt Tree Case, Veneer'd work, with Dark, lively branches, the Top insteed of Balls let be three handsome Carv'd figures, Gilt with burnished Gold.. I'd have the Case without the figures to be 10 foot Long, the price 15 not to Exceed 20 Guineas, and as it 's for my own use I beg your particular Care in buying of it at the Cheapest Rate. I'm advised to apply to one On the right of the hall, as you enter, is the fine old drawing-room, seventeen by twenty-five feet, also elaborately finished in moulded panels from floor to ceiling. In this room the founder of the Hancock name, as a man of note, and a merchant of established consequence, must often have received the Shirleys, the Olivers, the Pownalls, and the Hutchinsons of King George's colonial court; and here, too, some years later, his stately nephew John dispensed his elegant hospitalities to that serene Virginian, Mr. Washington, the Commander-in-Chief of the Army of the Revolution, and to the ardent young French Marquis who accompanied him. The room itself, hung with portraits from the honest, if not flattering hand of Smibert, and the more courtly and elegant pencil of Copley, still seems to bear witness in its very walls to the reality of such bygone scenes. We enter the close front-gate from the sunny and bustling promenade of Beacon Street, pass up the worn and gray terrace of the steps, and in a moment more closes behind us the door that seems to shut us out from the whirl and turmoil and strife of the present, and, almost mysteriously, to transport us to the grave shadows and the dignified silence of the past of American history. Over the chimney-piece, in this room, hangs the portrait of John Hancock, by Copley, - masterly in drawing, and most characteristic in its expression. It was painted apparently about ten or twelve years earlier than the larger portrait in Faneuil Hall, an excellent copy of which latter picture, but by another hand, occupies the centre of the wall at the end of the room opposite the windows. But by far the most interesting works of this great artist are the two pictures on the long side of the room oppo - - site the chimney, - the portraits of Thomas Hancock and his handsome wife Lydia Henchman, done in colored crayons or pastel, and which still retain every whit of their original freshness. These two pictures are believed to be unique specimens of their kind from the hand of Copley, and equally curious are the miniature copies of them by himself, done in oil-color, and which hang in little oval frames over the mantel. That of the lady, in particular, is exquisitely lifelike and easy. On the same long side of the room with the pastel drawings are the portraits of Thomas Hancock's father and mother, the minister of Lexington and his dignified-looking wife, - by Smibert. In one of the letters to "Dear Kilby," of which we have already made mention in this article, there is an allusion to this portrait of his father which shows in what high estimation it was always held by Mr. Hancock. "My Wife & I are Drinking your health this morning, 8 o' the Clock, in a Dish of Coffee and under the Shade of your Picture which I Rec'd not long Since of Mr. Smibert, in which am much Delighted, & have Suited it with a Frame of the fashion of my other Pictures, & fix'd it at the Right hand of all, in the Keeping-room. Every body that Sees it thinks it to be Exceedingly Like you, as it really is. I am of Opinion it's as Good a Piece as Mr. Smibert has done, and full as Like you as my Father's is Like him, which all mankind allows to be a Compleat Picture." It is to be regretted that the picture of Kilby has now disappeared from this collection. We have called the pastel portraits of Thomas Hancock and his wife unique specimens; we should add this qualification, however, that there is a copy of the former in this room, also by Copley, but differing in the costume, and perhaps even more carefully finished than the one already mentioned. The chamber overhead, too, has echoed, in days long gone by, to the footstep of many an illustrious guest. Washing made himself as comfortable as he might, while "cooped up in Boston and panting for an airing," through all the memorable siege of the town. It was from the windows of this chamber, on the morning of the 5th of March, 1776, that the officers * on the staff of Sir William Howe first beheld, through Thomas Hancock's old telescope, the intrenchments which had been thrown up the night before on the frozen ground of Dorchester Heights, — works of such a character and location as to satisfy them that thenceforth "neither Hell, Hull, nor Halifax could afford them worse shelter than Boston." And here, too, years after the advent of more peaceful times, the stately old Governor, racked with gout, and "swathed in flannel from head to foot," departed this life on the night of the 8th of October, 1793. As President of the Continental Congress of 1776, he left a name everywhere recognized as a household word among us; while his noble sign-manual to the document of gravest import in all our annals WHY THOMAS WAS DISCHARGED. BRANT BEACH is a long promontory of rock and sand, jutting out at an acute angle from a barren portion of the coast. Its farthest extremity is marked by a pile of many-colored, wave-washed boulders; its junction with the main - land is the site of the Brant House, a wateringplace of excellent repute. The attractions of this spot are not numerous. There is surf-bathing all along the outer side of the beach, and good swimming on the inner. The fishing is fair; and in still weather, yachting is rather a favorite amusement. Further than this, there is little to be said, save that the hotel is conducted upon liberal principles, and the society generally select. - But to the lover of Nature-and who has the courage to avow himself aught else?-the sea-shore can never be monotonous. The swirl and sweep of evershifting waters, the flying mist of foam breaking away into a gray and ghostly distance down the beach, -the eternal drone of ocean, mingling itself with one's talk by day and with the light dancemusic in the parlors by night,-all these are active sources of a passive pleasure. And to lie at length upon the tawny sand, watching, through half-closed eyes, the heaving waves, that mount against a dark-blue sky wherein great silvery masses of cloud float idly on, whiter than the sunlit sails that fade and grow and fade along the horizon, while some fair damsel sits close by, reading ancient ballads of a simple metre, or older legends of love and romance, tell me, my eater of the fashionable lotos, is not this a diversion well worth your having? There is an air of easy sociality among the guests at the Brant House, a disposition on the part of all to contribute to the general amusement, that makes a summer sojourn on the beach far more agreeable than in certain larger, more frequented watering-places, where one is always in danger of discovering that the gentlemanly person with whom he has been fraternizing is a faro-dealer, or that the lady who has half fascinated him is Anonyma herself. Still, some consider the Brant rather slow, and many good folk were a trifle surprised when Mr. Edwin Salisbury and Mr. Charles Burnham arrived by the late stage from Wikahasset Station, with trunks enough for two first-class belles, and a most unexceptionable man-servant in gray livery, in charge of two beautiful setterdogs. These gentlemen seemed to have imagined that they were about visiting some backwoods wilderness, some savage tract of country, "remote, unfriended, melancholy, slow"; for they brought almost everything with them that men of elegant leisure could require, as if the hotel were but four walls and a roof, which they must furnish with their own chattels. I am sure it took Thomas, the man-servant, a whole day to unpack the awnings, the bootjacks, the game-bags, the cigar-boxes, the guns, the camp-stools, the liquorcases, the bathing-suits, and other paraphernalia that these pleasure - seekers brought. It must be owned, however, that their room, a large one in the Bachelor's Quarter, facing the sea, wore a very comfortable, sportsmanlike look, when all was arranged. Thus surrounded, the young men betook themselves to the deliberate pursuit of idle pleasures. They arose at nine and went down the shore, invariably returning at ten with one unfortunate snipe, which was preserved on ice, with much ceremony, till wanted. At this rate, it took them a week to shoot a breakfast; but to see them sally forth, splendid in velveteen and corduroy, with top-boots and a complete harness of green cord and patent-leather straps, you would have imagined that all game-birds were about to become extinct in that region. Their dogs, even, recognized this greatcry-and-little-wool condition of things, and bounded off joyously at the start, but came home crestfallen, with an air of canine humiliation that would have aroused Mr. Mayhew's tenderest sympathies. After breakfasting, usually in their room, the friends enjoyed a long and contemplative smoke upon the wide piazza in front of their windows, listlessly regarding the ever-varied marine view that lay before them in flashing breadth and beauty. Their next labor was to array themselves in wonderful morningcostumes of very shaggy English cloth, shiny flasks and field-glasses about their shoulders, and loiter down the beach, to the point and back, making much unnecessary effort over the walk, — a brief mile, which they spoke of with importance, as their "constitutional." This : killed time till bathing-hour, and then came another smoke on the piazza, and another toilet, for dinner. After dinner, a siesta in the room, when the weather was fresh; when otherwise, in hammocks, hung from the rafters of the piazza. When they had been domiciled a few days, they found it expedient to send home for what they were pleased to term their "crabs" and "traps," and excited the envy of less fortunate guests by driving up and down the beach at a racing gait to dissipate the languor of the after-dinner sleep. This was their regular routine for the day, -varied, occasionally, when the tide served, by a fishing-trip down the narrow bay inside the point. For such emergencies, they provided themselves with a sail-boat and skipper, hired for the whole season, and arrayed themselves in a highly nautical rig. The results were, large quantities of sardines and pale sherry consumed by the young men, and a reasonable number of sea-bass and blackfish caught by their skipper. There were no regular "hops" at the Brant House, but dancing in a quiet way every evening, to a flute, violin, and violoncello, played by some of the waiters. For a time, Burnham and Salisbury did not mingle much in these festivities, but loitered about the halls and piazzas, very elegantly dressed and barbered, (Thomas was an unrivalled coiffeur,) and apparently somewhat ennuyé. That two well-made, full-grown, intelligent, and healthy young men should lead such a life as this for an entire summer might surprise one of a more active temperament. The aimlessness and vacancy of an existence devoted to no earthly purpose save one's own comfort must soon weary any man who knows what is the meaning of real, earnest life, — life with a battle to be fought and a victory to be won. But these elegant young gentlemen comprehended nothing of all that: they had been born with golden spoons in their mouths, and educated only to swallow the delicately insipid lotos-honey that flows inexhaustibly from such shining spoons. Clothes, complexions, polish of manner, and the avoidance of any sort of shock, were the simple objects of their solicitude. I do not know that I have any serious quarrel with such fellows, after all. They have some strong virtues. They are always clean; and your rough diamond, though manly and courageous as Cœurde-Lion, is not apt to be scrupulously nice in his habits. Affability is another virtue. The Salisbury and Burnham kind of man bears malice toward no one, and is disagreeable only when assailed by some hammer-and-tongs utilitarian. All he asks is to be permitted to idle away his pleasant life unmolested. Lastly, he is extremely ornamental. We all like to see pretty things; and I am sure that Charley Burnham, in his fresh white duck suit, with his fine, thorough-bred face-gentle as a girl's-shaded by a snowy Panama, his blonde moustache carefully pointed, his golden hair clustering in the most picturesque possible waves, his little red neck-ribbon - the only bit of color in his dress - tied in a studiously careless knot, and his pure, untainted gloves of pearl-gray or lavender, was, if I may be allowed the expression, just as pretty as a picture. And Ned Salisbury was not less "a joy forever," according to the dictum of the late Mr. Keats. He was darker than Burnham, with very black hair, and a moustache worn in the manner the French call triste, which became him, and increased the air of pensive melancholy that distinguished his dark eyes, thoughtful attitudes, and slender figure. Not that he was in the least degree pensive or melancholy, or that he had cause to be; quite the contrary; but it was his style, and he did it well. These two butterflies sat, one afternoon, upon the piazza, smoking very large cigars, lost, apparently, in profoundest meditation. Burnham, with his graceful head resting upon one delicate hand, his clear blue eyes full of a pleasant light, and his face warmed by a calm unconscious smile, might have been revolving some splendid scheme of universal philanthropy. The only utterance, however, forced from him by the sublime thoughts that permeated his soul, was the emission of a white rolling volume of fragrant smoke, accompanied by two words: "Doocèd hot!" Salisbury did not reply. He sat, leaning back, with his fingers interlaced behind his head, and his shadowy eyes downcast, as in sad remembrance of some long-lost love. So might a poet have looked, while steeped in mournfully rapturous day-dreams of remembered passion and severance. So might Tennyson's hero have mused, when he sang, "Oh, that 't were possible, After long grief and pain, and he terminated the sentence in a mur mur. More silence; more smoke; more profound meditation. Directly, Charley Burnham looked around with some show of vitality. "There comes the stage," said he. The driver's bugle rang merrily among the drifted sand-hills that lay warm and glowing in the orange light of the setting sun. The young men leaned forward over the piazza-rail, and scrutinized the occupants of the vehicle, as it appeared. "Old gentleman and lady, aw, and two children," said Ned Salisbury; “I hoped there would be some nice girls." This, in a voice of ineffable tenderness and poetry, but with that odd, tired little drawl, so epidemic in some of our universities. "Look there, by Jove!" cried Charley, with a real interest at last; "now that 's what I call the regular thing!" The "regular thing" was a low, fourwheeled pony-chaise of basket - work, drawn by two jolly little fat ponies, black and shiny as vulcanite, which jogged rapidly in, just far enough behind the stage to avoid its dust. This vehicle was driven by a young lady of decided beauty, with a spice of Amazonian spirit. She was rather slender and very straight, with a jaunty little hat and feather perched coquettishly above her dark brown hair, which was arranged in one heavy mass and confined in a silken net. Her complexion was clear, without brilliancy; her eyes blue as the ocean horizon, and spanned by sharp, characteristic brows; her mouth small and decisive; and her whole cast of features indicative of quick talent and independence. Upon the seat beside her sat another damsel, leaning indolently back in the corner of the carriage. This one was a little fairer than the first, having one of those beautiful English complexions of mingled rose and snow, and a dash of gold-dust in her hair, where the sun touched it. Her eyes, however, were dark hazel, and full of fire, shaded and |