Indeed, they remind one quite closely of the German boatman in
Uhland, who carried his reveries so far as to accept three fees
from one passenger.

But the truth is, that in Oldport we all incline to the attitude
of repose. Now and then a man comes here, from farther east, with
the New England fever in his blood, and with a pestilent desire
to do something. You hear of him, presently, proposing that the
Town Hall should be repainted. Opposition would require too much
effort, and the thing is done. But the Gulf Stream soon takes its
revenge on the intruder, and gradually repaints him also, with
its own soft and mellow tints. In a few years he would no more
bestir himself to fight for a change than to fight against it.

It makes us smile a little, therefore, to observe that universal
delusion among the summer visitors, that we spend all winter in
active preparations for next season. Not so; we all devote it
solely to meditations on the season past. I observe that nobody
in Oldport ever believes in any coming summer. Perhaps the tide
is turned, we think, and people will go somewhere else. You do
not find us altering our houses in December, or building out new
piazzas even in March. We wait till the people have actually come
to occupy them. The preparation for visitors is made after the
visitors have arrived. This may not be the way in which things
are done in what are called "smart business places." But it is
our way in Oldport.

It is another delusion to suppose that we are bored by this long
epoch of inactivity. Not at all; we enjoy it. If you enter a shop
in winter, you will find everybody rejoiced to see you--as a