Halfway down a by-street of one of our New England towns stands a rusty wooden house, with seven acutely… — Nathaniel Hawthorne
Halfway down a by-street of one of our New England towns stands a rusty wooden house, with seven acutely peaked gables, facing towards various points of the compass, and a huge, clustered chimney in the midst. The street is Pyncheon Street; the house is the old Pyncheon House; and an elm-tree, of wide circumference, rooted before the door, is familiar to every town-born child by the title of the Pyncheon Elm.
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Of all the events which constitute a person's biography, there is scarcely one — none, certainly, of anything like a similar importance — to which the world so easily reconciles itself as to his death.
The world owes all its onward impulses to men ill at ease. The happy man inevitably confines himself within ancient limits.
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