deed, looked as if they had accomplished a sad prophesy. Fronting on Middle Street, they extended in the rear to Ann Street, and embraced about half an acre of land. It was not uncommon in former times to have half an acre for a house lot, for an acre of land then, in many parts of Boston, was not more valuable than a foot in some places at present. The old mansion house had become powder-post, and been blown away. One other building, uninhabited, stood ominous courting dilapidation. The street had been so much raised that the bed chamber had descended to the kitchen and was level with the street. The house seemed conscious of its fate, and as though tired of standing there the front was fast retreating from the rear, and waiting the next south wind to project itself into the street. If the most wary animals had sought a place of refuge, here they would have rendezvoused. Here under the ridge pole the crow could have perched in safety, and in the recesses below you might have caught the fox and weazel asleep. "The hand of destiny," said I, "has pressed heavily on this spot; still heavier on the former
