The Nutter House--all the more prominent dwellings in Rivermouth are
named after somebody; for instance, there is the Walford House, the
Venner House, the Trefethen House, etc., though it by no means follows
that they are inhabited by the people whose names they bear--the Nutter
House, to resume, has been in our family nearly a hundred years, and
is an honor to the builder (an ancestor of ours, I believe), supposing
durability to be a merit. If our ancestor was a carpenter, he knew his
trade. I wish I knew mine as well. Such timber and such workmanship
don't often come together in houses built nowadays.

Imagine a low-studded structure, with a wide hall running through the
middle. At your right band, as you enter, stands a tall black mahogany
clock, looking like an Egyptian mummy set up on end. On each side of
the hall are doors (whose knobs, it must be confessed, do not turn very
easily), opening into large rooms wainscoted and rich in wood-carvings
about the mantel-pieces and cornices. The walls are covered with
pictured paper, representing landscapes and sea-views. In the parlor,
for example, this enlivening figure is repeated all over the room. A
group of English peasants, wearing Italian hats, are dancing on a lawn
that abruptly resolves itself into a sea-beach, upon which stands a
flabby fisherman (nationality unknown), quietly hauling in what appears
to be a small whale, and totally regardless of the dreadful naval combat
going on just beyond the end of his fishing-rod. On the other side of
the ships is the main-land again, with the same peasants dancing.
Our ancestors were very worthy people, but their wall-papers were
abominable.

There are neither grates nor stoves in these quaint chambers, but
splendid open chimney-places, with room enough for the corpulent
back-log to turn over comfortably on the polished andirons. A wide