Suburban Sketches

Suburban Sketches

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Title: Suburban Sketches
Author: W.D. Howells
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[Illustration: "She lighted a potent pipe."]

SUBURBAN SKETCHES
BY W. D. HOWELLS
AUTHOR OF "VENETIAN LIFE," "ITALIAN JOURNEYS" ETC.

CONTENTS
MRS. JOHNSON
DOORSTEP ACQUAINTANCE
A PEDESTRIAN TOUR
BY HORSE-CAR TO BOSTON
A DAY'S PLEASURE
A ROMANCE OF REAL LIFE
SCENE
JUBILEE DAYS
SOME LESSONS FROM THE SCHOOL OF MORALS
FLITTING

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS.
SHE LIGHTED A POTENT PIPE
"BUT I SUPPOSE THIS WINE IS NOT MADE OF GRAPES,
SIGNOR?"
LOOKING ABOUT, I SAW TWO WOMEN
THE YOUNG LADY IN BLACK, WHO ALIGHTED AT A MOST
ORDINARY LITTLE STREET

THAT SWEET YOUNG BLONDE, WHO ARRIVES BY MOST
TRAINS
FRANK AND LUCY STALKED AHEAD, WITH SHAWLS
DRAGGING FROM THEIR ARMS
THEY SKIRMISH ABOUT HIM WITH EVERY SORT OF QUERY.
A GAUNT FIGURE OF FORLORN AND CURIOUS SMARTNESS.
THE SPECTACLE AS WE BEHELD IT
VACANT AND CEREMONIOUS ZEAL

MRS. JOHNSON
It was on a morning of the lovely New England May that we left the
horse- car, and, spreading our umbrellas, walked down the street to our
new home in Charlesbridge, through a storm of snow and rain so finely
blent by the influences of this fortunate climate, that no flake knew
itself from its sister drop, or could be better identified by the people
against whom they beat in unison. A vernal gale from the east fanned
our cheeks and pierced our marrow and chilled our blood, while the
raw, cold green of the adventurous grass on the borders of the sopping
sidewalks gave, as it peered through its veil of melting snow and
freezing rain, a peculiar cheerfulness to the landscape. Here and there
in the vacant lots abandoned hoop-skirts defied decay; and near the
half-finished wooden houses, empty mortar-beds, and bits of lath and
slate strewn over the scarred and mutilated ground, added their interest
to the scene. A shaggy drift hung upon the trees before our own house
(which had been built some years earlier), while its swollen eaves wept
silently and incessantly upon the embankments lifting its base several
feet above the common level.
This heavenly weather, which the Pilgrim Fathers, with the idea of
turning their thoughts effectually from earthly pleasures, came so far to
discover, continued with slight amelioration throughout the month of
May and far into June; and it was a matter of constant amazement with
one who had known less austere climates, to behold how vegetable life
struggled with the hostile skies, and, in an atmosphere as chill and
damp as that of a cellar, shot forth the buds and blossoms upon the
pear-trees, called out the sour Puritan courage of the currant-bushes,
taught a reckless native grape-vine to wander and wanton over the
southern side of the fence, and decked the banks with violets as fearless

and as fragile as New England girls; so that about the end of June,
when the heavens relented and the sun blazed out at last, there was little
for him to do but to redden and darken the daring fruits that had
attained almost their full growth without his countenance.
Then, indeed, Charlesbridge appeared to us a kind of Paradise. The
wind blew all day from the southwest, and all day in the grove across
the way the orioles sang to their nestlings. The butcher's wagon rattled
merrily up to our gate every morning; and if we had kept no other
reckoning, we should have known it was Thursday by the grocer. We
were living in the country