At last the exiled innkeeper, on promising to do better, was allowed to return; a new sign, bearing the name of William Pitt, the friend of America, swung proudly from the door-post, and the patriots were appeased.

Here it was that the mail-coach from Boston twice a week, for many a year, set down its load of travelers and gossip.

For some of the details in this sketch, I am indebted to a recently published chronicle of those times.
It is 1782.

The French fleet is lying in the harbor of Rivermouth, and eight of the principal officers, in white uniforms trimmed with gold lace, have taken up their quarters at the sign of the William Pitt.

Who is this young and handsome officer now entering the door of the tavern?
It is no less a personage than the Marquis Lafayette, who has come all the way from Providence to visit the French gentlemen boarding there.
What a gallant-looking cavalier he is, with his quick eyes and coal black hair! Forty years later he visited the spot again; his locks were gray and his step was feeble, but his heart held its young love for Liberty.
Who is this finely dressed traveler alighting from his coach-and-four, attended by servants in livery?
Do you know that sounding name, written in big valorous letters on the Declaration of Independence--written as if by the hand of a giant?
Can you not see it now?
JOHN HANCOCK.