About 93 minutes
Bob Bowen Comes to Town — Inside the Classic
Fantasy Juvenile Worlds
21,253 recorded words. 11 minutes difference from this book's estimate.
View Gutenberg source #67361For In colonial days — Context and Discussion, the stored edition analysis reports 23,748 words, 1 hr 44 min estimated reading time, and 7 detected text sections.
The text analysis averages about 25.3 words per sentence, while the detected sections provide another way to judge how the source is divided.
Project Gutenberg metadata also associates the work with “Short stories, American,” connecting these edition facts with the source record’s subject description.
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About 93 minutes
Fantasy Juvenile Worlds
21,253 recorded words. 11 minutes difference from this book's estimate.
View Gutenberg source #67361About 122 minutes
Fantasy Juvenile Worlds
27,975 recorded words. 18 minutes difference from this book's estimate.
View Gutenberg source #67834About 79 minutes
Fantasy Juvenile Worlds
17,943 recorded words. 25 minutes difference from this book's estimate.
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Hawthorne frames his four Province House tales as stories overheard in a decaying Boston mansion, where each narrative emerges from a specific object or threshold: a masquerade, a portrait, a mantle, a key. The collection moves between the narrator's present-day stroll and the colonial past, with each tale introduced by a detailed scene of the building's architecture—an arched passage, a contorted iron balustrade, a balcony. This structure creates a layered sense of time, where the past is not merely recalled but seems to press into the present through the very walls of the Province House.
The tales repeatedly stage arrivals and departures across thresholds. In "Howe's Masquerade," the narrator enters through a narrow archway; in "Lady Eleanore's Mantle," the coach halts before the iron balustrade, and a young man prostrates himself beside it. These moments of crossing—from street to house, from coach to ground—are charged with symbolic weight. The bell of the Old South tolls for a funeral as Lady Eleanore arrives, turning her entrance into a procession of calamity. Hawthorne uses these liminal spaces to blur the boundary between living and dead, past and present, as if the threshold itself is a portal through which history reenters.
Each tale centers on a charged object: a masquerade costume, a portrait, an embroidered mantle, a key. These items are not mere props but active agents that trigger the narrative. The mantle, for instance, is rumored to possess "magical properties of adornment," yet on the day of Lady Eleanore's arrival she wears a simple riding-habit, suggesting the object's power lies in perception rather than enchantment. Hawthorne describes the mantle as "wrought by the most skilful artist in London," grounding its allure in craftsmanship and rumor. The portrait in "Edward Randolph's Portrait" is similarly treated as a living presence, with characters addressing it directly. These objects accumulate meaning through repeated description and the reactions they provoke.
Hawthorne frequently inserts a watching crowd or a single observer into the scenes. In "Lady Eleanore's Mantle," the crowd gathers on each side of the gateway, creating an "open avenue" for the coach. Their applause at Lady Eleanore's pride underscores their complicity in the drama. The narrator himself is a spectator, wandering through the Province House and listening to tales told by others. This framing device makes the reader aware of the act of looking—at the building, at the illustrations, at the past. The illustrations listed in the front matter, such as "Several Personages descending towards the Door" and "The Balcony," reinforce this visual emphasis, turning each tale into a tableau.
Certain figures appear across the tales: the elderly gentleman, the young man in disorder, the military officer. In "Lady Eleanore's Mantle," Jervase Helwyse is described as "a pale young man, with his black hair all in disorder," a type that echoes the "tall, lank figure" and "stout man, dressed in rich and courtly attire" from earlier tales. These recurring types suggest a cast of archetypes rather than fully individuated characters. Motifs of descent and ascent—"descending towards the Door," "descended the flight of steps"—further unify the collection. The color plates listed in the illustrations, such as "The Shape of Gage, as True as in a Looking-glass" and "The Communication could be of no Agreeable Import," hint at moments of revelation or reversal that punctuate each story.
Readers may find it useful to attend to the way Hawthorne builds each tale around a single, often theatrical, scene. The collection rewards attention to the physical details of the Province House—the archway, the balcony, the iron balustrade—as these are not mere setting but active participants in the narrative. The tales are best read sequentially, as the framing narrator's voice and the building's atmosphere accumulate across the four stories, creating a unified impression of a past that refuses to stay buried.
In the Province House, Hawthorne’s figures step through thresholds, forever returning in costume and key. There is a quiet kinship in how Fiander's Widow: A Novel — Edition Insights likewise holds a dwelling’s past alive, not as spectacle, but as a weight one feels in the walls. Both books whisper that a house remembers, even when we only visit. Fiander's Widow: A Novel — Edition Insights.
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