第8部分(第5/7 頁)

veknown　a　youthful　era。　Before　this　ugly　edifice；　and　between　it　and　thewheel…track　of　the　street；　was　a　grass…plot；　much　overgrown　withburdock；　pig…weed；　apple…peru；　and　such　unsightly　vegetation；　whichevidently　found　something　congenial　in　the　soil　that　had　so　earlyborne　the　black　flower　of　civilised　society；　a　prison。　But；　on　oneside　of　the　portal；　and　rooted　almost　at　the　threshold；　was　a　wildrose…bush；　covered；　in　this　month　of　June；　with　its　delicate　gems；which　might　be　imagined　to　offer　their　fragrance　and　fragile　beauty　tothe　prisoner　as　he　went　in；　and　to　the　condemned　criminal　as　he　cameforth　to　his　doom；　in　token　that　the　deep　heart　of　Nature　could　pityand　be　kind　to　him。 This　rose…bush；　by　a　strange　chance；　has　been　kept　alive　in　history；but　whether　it　had　merely　survived　out　of　the　stern　old　wilderness；　solong　after　the　fall　of　the　gigantic　pines　and　oaks　that　originallyovershadowed　it…　or　whether；　as　there　is　fair　authority　for　believing；it　had　sprung　up　under　the　footsteps　of　the　sainted　Ann　Hutchinson；　asshe　entered　the　prison…door…　we　shall　not　take　upon　us　to　determine。Finding　it　so　directly　on　the　threshold　of　our　narrative；　which　is　nowabout　to　issue　from　that　inauspicious　portal；　we　could　hardly　dootherwise　than　pluck　one　of　its　flowers；　and　present　it　to　the　reader。It　may　serve；　let　us　hope；　to　symbolise　some　sweet　moral　blossom；　thatmay　be　found　along　the　track；　or　relieve　the　darkening　close　of　a　taleof　human　frailty　and　sorrow。 II。 THE　MARKET…PLACE。 THE　grass…plot　before　the　jail；　in　Prison　Lane；　on　a　certainsummer　morning；　not　less　than　two　centuries　ago；　was　occupied　by　apretty　large　number　of　the　inhabitants　of　Boston；　all　with　theireyes　intently　fastened　on　the　iron…clamped　oaken　door。　Among