It was at the height of the French Revolution that the three sons of the Due d’Orleans were entertained at the Langdon mansion.  Years afterward, when Louis Philippe was on the throne of France, he inquired of a Portsmouth lady presented at his court if the mansion of ce brave Gouverneur Langdon was still in existence.

The house stands back a decorous distance from the street, under the shadows of some gigantic oaks or elms, and presents an imposing appearance as you approach it over the tessellated marble walk.  A hundred or two feet on either side of the gate, and abutting on the street, is a small square building of brick, one story in height—­probably the porter’s lodge and tool-house of former days.  There is a large fruit garden attached to the house, which is in excellent condition, taking life comfortably, and having the complacent air of a well-preserved beau of the ancien regime.  The Langdon mansion was owned and long occupied by the late Rev. Dr. Burroughs, for a period of forty-seven years the esteemed rector or St. John’s Church.

At the other end of Pleasant Street is another notable house, to which we shall come by and by.  Though President Washington found Portsmouth but moderately attractive from an architectural point of view, the visitor of to-day, if he have an antiquarian taste, will find himself embarrassed by the number of localities and buildings that appeal to his interest.  Many of these buildings were new and undoubtedly commonplace enough at the date of Washington’s visit; time and association have given them a quaintness and a significance which now make their architecture a question of secondary importance.

One might spend a fortnight in Portsmouth exploring the nooks and corners over which history has thrown a charm, and by no means exhaust the list.  I cannot do more than attempt to describe—­and that very briefly—­a few of the typical old houses.  On this same Pleasant Street there are several which we must leave unnoted, with their spacious halls and carven staircases, their antiquated furniture and old silver tankards and choice Copleys.  Numerous examples of this artist’s best manner are to be found here.  To live in Portsmouth without possessing a family portrait done by Copley is like living in Boston without having an ancestor in the old Granary Burying-Ground.  You can exist, but you cannot be said to flourish.  To make this statement smooth, I will remark that every one in Portsmouth has a Copley—­or would have if a fair division were made.

In the better sections of the town the houses are kept in such excellent repair, and have so smart an appearance with their bright green blinds and freshly painted woodwork, that you are likely to pass many an old landmark without suspecting it.  Whenever you see a house with a gambrel roof, you may be almost positive that the house is at least a hundred years old, for the gambrel roof went out of fashion after the Revolution.