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222
A New England Girlhood, Outlined from Memory (Beverly, MA)
·
Lucy Larcom
133
The
gray
stone
walls
of
St.
Anne's
church
and
rectory
made
a
picturesque
spot
in
the
middle
of
the
town,
remaining
still
as
a
lasting
monument
to
the
religious
purpose
which
animated
the
first
manufacturers.
The
church
arose
close
to
the
oldest
corporation
(the
"Merrimack"),
and
seemed
a
part
of
it,
and
a
part,
also,
of
the
original
idea
of
the
place
itself,
which
was
always
a
city
of
worshipers,
although
it
came
to
be
filled
with
a
population
which
preferred
meeting-houses
to
churches.
I
admired
the
church
greatly.
I
had
never
before
seen
a
real
one;
never
anything
but
a
plain
frame
meeting-house;
and
it
and
its
benign,
apostolic-looking
rector
were
like
a
leaf
out
of
an
English
story-book.
And
so,
also,
was
the
tiny
white
cottage
nearly
opposite,
set
in
the
middle
of
a
pretty
flower-garden
that
sloped
down
to
the
canal.
In
the
garden
there
was
almost
always
a
sweet
little
girl
in
a
pink
gown
and
white
sunbonnet
gathering
flowers
when
I
passed
that
way,
and
I
often
went
out
of
my
path
to
do
so.
These
relieved
the
monotony
of
the
shanty-like
shops
which
bordered
the
main
street.
The
town
had
sprung
up
with
a
mushroom-rapidity,
and
there
was
no
attempt
at
veiling
the
newness
of
its
bricks
and
mortar,
its
boards
and
paint.
But
there
were
buildings
that
had
their
own
individuality,
and
asserted
it.
One
of
these
was
a
mud-cabin
with
a
thatched
roof,
that
looked
as
if
it
had
emigrated
bodily
from
the
bogs
of
Ireland.
It
had
settled
itself
down
into
a
green
hollow
by
the
roadside,
and
it
looked
as
much
at
home
with
the
lilac-tinted
crane's-bill
and
yellow
buttercups
as
if
it
had
never
lost
sight
of
the
shamrocks
of
Erin.
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