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Bowdoin dumped the little girls over the railing upon a steep grass slope, down which they rolled with shrieks of laughter that must have been most damaging to Mrs. Bowdoin's nerves. Dolly and Mercedes followed after; and the old gentleman settled himself on a roomy cane chair, his feet on the rail of the back piazza, a huge spy-glass at his side, and the "Boston Daily Advertiser" in his hand.
To credit of Pirates, or Whom it may concern, sixteen thousand eight hundred and ninety-seven dollars." "Pirates!" he muttered; "it's a new account for us to carry. I'll not be sorry the day we write it off." Bowdoin, in the frivolity of youth, laughed. "And now," said McMurtagh, "you must tie up the bag again and seal it, and I must take it up and put it in the vault of the bank."
Ask a man to look you up at No. 952 West One Hundred and Twelfth Street, and though your heart loathes him, you shall not escape. But in Brooklyn you are safe until the moment your doorbell actually rings. For even if your visitor should find Bowdoin Place, many streets in Brooklyn have two, three, or four systems of numbering.
Class days and class suppers, so prolific of small honors, were not introduced at Bowdoin until some years later. Hawthorne was commonly known among his classmates, as "Hath," and his friends addressed him in this manner long after he had graduated. His degree was made out in the name of Nathaniel Hathorne, above which he subsequently wrote "Hawthorne," in bold letters.
"These people are nobody," said he; and he talked of fashionable and equipaged friends he had known in other places. Where? Jamie suspected, race-courses; his stories of them bore usually an equine flavor. But he was not a horse-dealer; his hands were too white for that. Poor old Mr. Bowdoin had had a hangdog feeling with old Jamie ever since that day his son had laughed.
O'Neill," said Mr. Stanchion sternly, "if I see you again interfering with McMurtagh's mail, you may go. What business is that of ours?" Poor O'Neill hung his head, abashed. But all eyes were on Jamie as he opened his desk. He put the letter in his pocket. The clerks looked at one another. The suspense became unendurable. When old Mr. Bowdoin came in, the cashier told him what had happened.
To the Court House!" cried the mob. "It's that fellow Simms," said Mr. Bowdoin, but was interrupted by sounds as of a portly person running downstairs; and they saw the front door fly open and Mrs. Bowdoin run across the street, her cap-strings streaming in the air. "By Jove, if Abolitionism can make your grandma run, I'll forgive it a lot!" cried Mr. Bowdoin.
"Can't get in here, can't get in here." "I tell you I'm a judge of the Supreme Court of this Commonwealth," they heard him say. "Go around, then, and get under the chain. But the court can't sit to-day." Mr. Bowdoin bubbled with indignation as he saw the old man take off his high hat, and, stooping low, bow his white hairs to get beneath the chain. "If I do, I'm damned," said Mr. Bowdoin quietly.
At seventeen he entered Bowdoin College, and after his graduation returned again to live in Salem. During his youth he had an impression that he would die before the age of twenty-five; but the Mannings, his ever-watchful and kind relations, did everything possible for the care of his health, and he was tided safely over the period when he was most delicate.
Templeton, after an active life of more than twenty years, principally spent in school teaching, died in Pittsburg, in July, 1851, leaving an amiable widow and infant son. Thomas Paul, A.B., of Boston, a gentleman of fine talents and amiable disposition, whose life has been mainly devoted to teaching, is a graduate of Bowdoin College, in Maine. Mr.
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