ing over the account, and find that I rather overcharged him, in the price of some chairs; that is, I could have afforded them at somewhat less. I have added up the interest, and here, madam, is the money."

The widow listened, and, as she suspected the truth, the tears came to her eyes. The Deacon comprehended all in an instant: he did not pause to reply, but laid the money on the table and departed.

Another trait of this good man was his patriotism. The prosperity of the country seemed always to be in his heart-a source of gratification to himself and a cause of thanksgiving to God. His conversation, his prayers, were full of these sentiments. Though of moderate intellectual gifts, his temper was so even, his desires so just, that his judgment was almost infallible; and hence he exercised a large, though quiet and unseen influence upon other men. It is strange, in this world, to see a man who always and under all circumstances, seems to have as his master motive-the wish to do just right. Yet such a man was Deacon Hawley.*

I know not how it is, but the term deacon is associated in many minds with a certain littleness, and especially a sort of affectation, a cant in conversation, an I-am-holier-than-thou air and manner. I remember Deacon C.... of H...., who deemed it proper

* See note I. p. 519.

to become scriptural, and to talk as much as possible like Isaiah. He was in partnership with his son Laertes, and they sold crockery and furniture. One day a female customer came, and the old gentleman being engaged, went to call his son, who was in the loft above. Placing himself at the foot of the stairs, he said, attuning his voice to the occasion, "La-ar-tes, descend a lady waits!" Deacon C.... sought to signalize himself by a special respect to the ways of Providence: so he refused to get insurance against fire, declaring that if the Lord wished to burn down his house or his barn, he should submit without a murmur. He pretended to consider thunder and lightning and conflagrations as special acts of the Almighty, and it was distrusting Providence to attempt to avert their effects. Deacon Hawley had none of these follies or frailties. Though a deacon, he was still a man; though aspiring to heaven, he lived cheerily on earth; though a Christian, he was a father, a neighbor, and, according to his rank in life, a gentleman, having in all things the feelings and manners appropriate to each of these relations.

This good man is not living: he died not many years since at the age of ninety-one, enjoying to the last good health, and that tranquillity of mind and body sometimes vouchsafed to the aged after the heat and burden of active life. I look back upon his memory as a strip of sunshine bursting from the clouds, and falling upon the landscape of life, to make us feel

that there is light in the world, and that every maneven those of humble capacity and humble positionmay possess it, use it, glorify and disseminate it. Such a life indeed tends to rob existence of its bitterness, and to give dignity to man and glory to God!

LETTER XVII.

The Federalist and the Democrat-Colonel Bradley and General KingComparison of New England with European Villages.

MY DEAR C****:

From the ecclesiastic notabilities of Ridgefield I turn for a moment to the secular. And first, Colonel Bradley claims my notice, for he was the leading citizen of the place, in station, wealth, education, and power of intellect. He was a tall, gaunt, sallow man, a little bent at the period of my recollection, for he was then well stricken in years. He lived in a twostory white house, at the upper end of the main street, and on the western side. This was of ample dimensions, and had a grave, antique air, the effect of which was enhanced by a row of wide-arching elms, lining the street. It stood on a slight elevation, and somewhat withdrawn from the road; the fence in front was high and close; the doors and windows were always shut, even in summer. I know not why, but this

place had a sort of awfulness about it: it seemed to have a spirit and a voice, which whispered to the passer-by, "Go thy way: this is the abode of one above and beyond thee !"

In order to comprehend the impression likely to be made by such a sombre tenement, you must remember the general aspect of our country villages at that time, and indeed at the present time. Each house was built near the street, with a yard in front and a garden beside it. The fences were low, and of light, open pickets or slats, made to exclude cattle, pigs, and geese, which then had the freedom of the place. There was a cheerful, confiding, wide, open look all around. Everybody peeped from the windows into everybody's grounds. The proprietor was evidently content to be under your eye; nay, as you passed along, his beets and carrots in long beds; his roses and peonies bordering the central walk; the pears and peaches and plums swinging from the trees, all seemed to invite your observation. The barn, having its vast double doors in front, and generally thrown open, presented its interior to your view, with all its gathered treasures of hay, oats, rye, and flax. Near by, but yet apart, stood the crib for the Indian corn, showing its laughing, yellow ears between the slats, designed to give circulation to the air.

There was in all this a liberty and equality which belonged to the age. These had their foundation, partly at least, in two sources-a love of an open,

unobstructed view, and a sort of communal familiarity in the intercourse of society. The first settlers of the country found it covered with forests, which, while they sheltered the lurking Indian, the poaching wolf, and the prowling bear, also obstructed cultivation. Trees were then the great enemy, and to exterminate them was the first great battle of life. In those days men became tree-haters. The shadow of the wood was associated with dearth and danger the open space with plenty and peace. It was not till long after, when the burning sun of our summers had taught the luxury of shade, that the people of New England discovered their mistake, and began to decorate their streets and pleasure-grounds with trees.

In these, the primeval days of our history, men gathered in the village were mutual protectors one of the other; there was a bond of sympathy between them, founded in necessity, and this led to confidence, and confidence to familiarity. Equality of intercourse, with a general equality of feeling, were the results. And besides, wealth had not accumulated in the hands of particular individuals or in society generally. The habits therefore were simple, and the tastes of the people demanded little beyond the means and usages of mere comfort. The love of embellishment gradually crept over society, but at the period of which I speak, it had not, in Ridgefield and other villages in Connecticut, gone beyond the elements I have described.