Lorenzo. Go in, Sirrah; bid them prepare for dinner. Launcelot. That is done, sir; they have all stomachs. Lorenzo. Goodly lord, what a wit-snapper are you! then bid them prepare dinner. Launcelot. That is done too, sir.

MERCHANT OF VENICE.

The high square, pews of the little Congregational church, or (as in those days the descendants of the Puritans, in order to manifest their abhorrence for popery, and all that in their judgment sounded papistical, loved to call their places for public worship) the “meeting-house,” were tolerably well filled by an attentive congregation on Thanksgiving morning. We say only tolerably, some seats being vacant, which seldom of a Sunday missed of occupants. The rights of hospitality were allowed on this occasion to trench upon the duties of public worship, and many a good wife with the servants, whom no common storm or slight indisposition would have kept away, remained at home to spread the board for expected guests. If there were some whose stern principles condemned the practice as a carnality, they were a small minority. Those whose fleshly appetites were to be gratified by it took a different view of the subject very generally; and as this was the condition of pretty much the whole community, whose members figured now as hosts and now as guests, the verdict was nearly unanimous in its favor. In truth, the due observance of the day seemed to consist of two parts, worship and feasting; each was necessary to the other to form a complement, and without both it would have been jejune and unsatisfactory. Besides, this was the annual period for the reunion of friends and relatives, parted for the rest of the year, and in some instances considerable journeys were undertaken in order once more to unite the severed circle and gather again around the beloved board. Fathers and mothers, with smiles of welcome, kissed their returned children; brothers and sisters joined cordial hands and rushed into each other’s embraces, and the placid grandparents danced the little ones on their knees, and traced resemblances to others. It would have been a cold and inhospitable greeting, to be invited, after listening to a two hours’ sermon, to sit around a dinner not beyond the common. Not to such a feast did stout-hearted and hard-headed Jonathan invite his friends. He rightly understood that there was a carnal and a spiritual man, nor was he disposed to neglect the claims of either. The earth was given to the saints “with the fullness thereof,” and he meant to have his portion. Therefore it was that while one part of the family went to “meeting” to pray, the other remained at home to cook. Thus, by a judicious division of duties the honored day was celebrated with befitting rites and ceremonies.

After waiting for a reasonable time, until all who were expected to attend were supposed to be in the house, the minister rose from his seat, in the high, wine-glass shaped pulpit, over which hung, like the sword of Damocles, by a cord, an immense sounding-board, considered indispensable, duly to scatter round that each might have his appropriate portion, the crumbs of salvation he dispensed, and “gave out” an appropriate hymn, in which the Supreme Being was acknowledged as the Ruler of the Seasons. This was sung, it must be confessed, by a sadly shrunken choir, stoutly supported, however, by the congregation in the body of the meeting-house, without the sound of tabret, or harp, or other musical instruments; for in those days not even the flute or grave bass-viol, those pioneers of the organ, were permitted in the Sanctuary. To the hymn succeeded a long and fervent prayer, in which Mr. Robinson, the minister (the term Reverend had then a slight papistical twang), after bewailing with ingenious particularity the sins and back-slidings of himself and people, and the ingratitude of the whole land, and recounting the innumerable blessings that had crowned their basket and their store, entreated that notwithstanding their manifold sins, iniquities and transgressions, the divine favor might not be withdrawn from a land where the Lord had planted his own vine, and where the precious seeds of heavenly grace deposited in the soil and nurtured and cultured by men “of whom the world was not worthy,” had sprung up and borne the inestimable fruit of civil and religious freedom. Upon the conclusion of the prayer followed another hymn, and after these “exercises,” the sermon.

The text was the ninth verse of the twenty-sixth chapter of Deuteronomy, “And He hath brought us into this place and hath given us this land, even a land that floweth with milk and honey.” The Thanksgiving sermon was formerly one on which more than common labor was expended, and was intended to be a celebrity of the year. On this occasion the preacher laid out a wide field for his eloquence. He commenced by comparing the condition of the first colonists to that of the children of Israel when they fled from the house of bondage. He painted the Pilgrim fathers landing on Plymouth Rock, snow, and ice, and desolation around, but the fire of faith in their hearts. He contrasted the feebleness of the beginning with the grandeur of the result, whence he deduced the inference that the Lord had led his people with a mighty hand and an outstretched arm; he alluded to the changed appearance of the country, converted from a heathen wilderness into a Christian garden, whence the perfume of Christian devotion perpetually arose; he portrayed the horrors of the war of the Revolution, and exhorted his hearers to cherish the memory of the men who had consecrated their lives and fortunes to Liberty, and sealed that consecration with their blood. Warming with his subject, his eyes shone with a brighter lustre and seemed gazing into a far future, as in prophetic tones he proclaimed the advent of the latter days, when the beacon fires of Freedom kindled on the mountain tops of the new Canaan should send their streaming rays across the seas, and the kingdoms of this world should become the heritage of God and of His Christ. “Seeing these things are so, brethren,” he concluded, “seeing that God hath chosen you unto himself for a peculiar people, the weak things of the world to confound the strong, the rejected, the cast away and despised, to be held up as an example to the wondering and admiring nations, what manner of men ought ye to be in all holy conversation and godliness?”

Such is an imperfect sketch of the remarks of Mr. Robinson. With such language sought the ministers in times past to keep alive the flame of patriotism, and to inspire with humility, yet animate with a just pride. Nor are such discourses thrown away. They do much towards the formation of a national character.

Long as was the sermon and of not a moment of its orthodox length was it defrauded it was listened to with the deepest attention, by the older members, especially, of the congregation. The grave decorum of a place of public worship forbade any open exhibition of approval, but more than one knit brow and lighted eye, betrayed the emotions excited by the allusions. Let it be remembered, it was nearer the times that tried men’s souls; the later events were fresh in their memory; some of the hearers, perhaps, had borne a personal part in them, and all were animated by the generous fire of ’76 sparks of which, we trust, still glimmer in the bosoms of their descendants. What to us, in these colder and as some say more worldly days, might have seemed extravagant, if not vain-glorious, was to them sober truth; and if there were any who, perverting into poison what was meant for wholesome nutriment, thanked God that they were not as other men, there were others who, without losing their humility, felt an impulse given to the nobler feelings.

At the conclusion of the services, there was the usual grasping of hands, and congratulations of the season, and inquiries after healths, and encomiums on the sermon, when the assembly dispersed to their homes, to attend, in another form, to the duties of the day. Mr. Armstrong and Faith waited for the minister, and the three walked home together. They were overtaken and joined by Doctor Elmer, who expressed regret at having been detained from the services by professional duties.

“But,” added he, looking at Mr. Robinson, and bowing courteously, “if I have been so unfortunate as to miss of one feast, I do not mean to be deprived of another. I may say of myself, as Shakspeare says of somebody, ‘Marry, sir, sometimes he is a kind of Puritan.’”

“I hope your Puritan principles do not consist merely in eating Thanksgiving dinners,” said Mr. Robinson, with a smile.

“And remember, doctor,” observed Faith, “what your own Shakspeare says again

“’dainty bits
Make rich the ribs, but bankerout quite the wits.’”

“My dear,” interposed Mr. Armstrong, “is not this conversation of too light a character?”

But he could not immediately check the doctor.

“Ha, Miss Faith,” he cried, “’wilt thou show the whole wealth of thy wit, in an instant? I pray thee, understand a plain man in his plain meaning.’ But

’The tongues of mocking wenches are as keen
As is the razor’s edge invisible,
Cutting a smaller hair than may be seen.’
Come,” he added, observing that Mr. Armstrong looked grave, “take my arm, and we will discuss some serious subject, together.” So saying, he offered his arm to Faith, which she took, and they followed, at a few steps distance, after Mr. Armstrong and the minister.

“I am afraid,” said the doctor, slackening his pace, so as to allow the others to get out of hearing, “you would prefer a certain young gentleman’s arm to that of an old bachelor. It is rather hard that the rogues, whose principal recommendation, I flatter myself, is that they are twenty years younger, should steal away all my sweethearts.”

Faith laughed, as she replied:

“Why, dear doctor, what would you have us do? You never will propose; so you must not complain if you drive us poor girls to desperation.”

“You wicked little baggage, is this the way you laugh at the most constant of your admirers? How many long years have I spent in your service, from the time I began with rocking your cradle, occasionally giving you, to sweeten your humors, a teaspoon of castor oil, or a half-dozen drops of elixir salutis, up to the present time, and thus you reward my devotion! I begin to feel desperate, and have half a mind to transfer my affections to Anne Bernard.”

“Do not treat me so cruelly. I assure you, my love increases every day. Besides, you might find your perfidy punished by meeting a too formidable rival.”

“Ah, ha! I understand. Yet, I feel my chivalry a little roused at the idea of opposition. But, on the whole, Faith, I will accept your pledge of affection, and stick to my colors like a man and a doctor. And, to exhibit my confidence, you may, meanwhile, flirt in moderation with William Bernard. You will get tired of it when the novelty wears off; so I shall escape, and it is better that you should tease him now than me hereafter. But, dear me, here we are at your door.”

Mr. Armstrong and the minister had waited for them on the step, and the four entered together. Shortly after Pownal arrived, and somewhat later the family of the Bernards.

We should deceive our readers if we left them to infer from the jesting talk of the doctor that any mutual attachment existed between Miss Armstrong and William Bernard. It was because his suspicions were so vaguely expressed, and herself so unconscious of any feelings of the kind, that Faith had not thought it worth while to notice them. She and young Bernard had known each other from infancy; they had attended the same school; the intimacy betwixt Faith and Anne, and the friendly relations of the two families equals in wealth and station, had brought them frequently together, but nothing could be further from the fact than that any engagement existed between them. They treated one another, indeed, like brother and sister; but if any warmer emotion was felt, it was not by Faith. Her engrossing affection for her father seemed to exclude all rivalship. The meeting exactly expressed the footing on which the families stood. Mr. Armstrong shook hands cordially with all, and in a few words uttered his pleasure at welcoming them; Mrs Bernard kissed the cheek of Faith, with almost the feeling of a mother; the greeting of the girls’ was like that of sisters, and Faith extended her hand to William Bernard, with a smile, but without a blush.

Though utterly unlike, it would be difficult to conceive of two more beautiful creatures than Faith Armstrong and Anne Bernard. The dark hair of Faith, the large black eyes, the nose slightly aquiline, an expression of countenance ordinarily composed, though not sad, but which could be lighted up into enthusiasm, and a graceful dignity that marked every action, while it seemed only a necessary part of herself, forcibly reminded one sometimes of the heroines of the ancient Scriptures. So in her youthful years, before her eyes were fully opened to the vision, and before to the sound of the clanging timbrel her voice responded to the triumph song of the children of Israel, might have looked the prophetess, Miriam.

No contrast could be stronger than that presented by sweet Anne Bernard. Light colored hair fell in graceful curls around an oval and perfectly regular face, of the most delicate complexion. So thin, so almost transparent was the skin, that the veins seemed hardly hidden, and a very slight emotion was sufficient to suffuse it with a tint that needed to fear no rivalry with the rose. No heaven could be bluer than the soft eyes that seemed “to love whate’er they looked upon,” and whether dimmed with the tear of pity, or flashing with mirth, revealed a pure, but not a timid spirit. But among features which all were beautiful, if one could be called more beautiful than another, it was the mouth, and white as snow were the regular and perfectly formed teeth which the crimson lips concealed. Her figure was rather below than above the ordinary height, and its roundness indicated the most perfect health. Let not this description be deemed a picture of romance. Those acquainted with the beautiful daughters of New England will acknowledge its truth, or, at least, confess, it errs not on the side of exaggeration.

The intermediate time between the arrival of the company and the serving up of dinner, was spent by them in such conversation as usually takes place on occasions of the kind. Somebody has said, that two Americans cannot meet without talking politics, but we can vouch for the fact, that although Mr. Armstrong, the doctor, and divine were federalists, and the Judge a democrat, having spent several of his early years in France, where he was supposed to have imbibed his sentiments, not a word on the subject was uttered. A reference or two was made to the minister’s discourse; the flourishing condition of the country and its prospects adverted to; and some items of domestic news and village anecdotes narrated. Such was the conversation of the elders: as for what passed between the young people, we know there was some laughing, but have forgot what they talked about. We regret this irreparable loss, and promise to be more attentive for the future.

Al length, the ebony disc of Felix’s face, rising pleasantly above a snow-bank of neck-cloth, appeared at the door, and announced dinner, when Mr. Armstrong offering his arm to Mrs. Bernard, preceded his friends into the dining-room. Faith accepted the Judge’s escort, and Pownal tried to wait on Anne, but somehow or other (and we suspect her of complicity in the affair), the divine secured the prize.

Before the company sat down, which was in an order having reference to their supposed tastes and attractions, at a request from the host, an appropriate grace was said by the minister, which happily avoided the extremes of too much brevity on the one hand, and of too great prolixity on the other; or, in other words, it was neither irreverently short, nor impertinently long.

The dinner was of that kind which still graces the hospitable boards of old Connecticut. At one end of the table a roasted turkey, which had been stuffed a couple of days before, in order that the spices, composing a part of the ingredients, might penetrate and flavor the flesh of the noble bird, turned up his round full breast to the carving-knife; at the other end, another turkey, somewhat smaller, boiled and served with oyster sauce, kept company with her mate, while near the centre, which was occupied by bleached celery in a crystal vase, a mighty ham balanced a chicken pie of equal size. Besides these principal dishes there were roasted and boiled fowls, and ducks, and tongues, flanked by cranberry and apple sauces, and mashed turnips and potatoes. On the sideboard (for be it remembered, it was “when this old cap was new,” and a practice which now is considered, at least, questionable, was then held in all honor, and its neglect was never dreamed of, and would have drawn down an imputation of nigardliness and want of breeding) stood bottles of wine, and flagons containing still stronger liquors, together with a large pitcher of delicious cider. Upon the removal of the first course followed various kinds of puddings, and pies, and custards, and tarts, and sillabubs, and they, in their turn, were succeeded by apples and different sorts of nuts, with raisins and figs, with which the repast was concluded. Such was an old Thanksgiving dinner. The present preliminary soup was unusual or unknown. It was an array capable of supplying the wants of a much larger company, and but a small part could be consumed, but it was the fashion, and it still continues. They were celebrating the bounty of Providence, and it was meet that the liberality of man should be in harmony with it. Felix, grave and decorous, as became the importance of the occasion, and his assistant, multiplied themselves into a thousand waiters, sedulous to anticipate the wants of the host and his guests.

The conversation, which at first ran in several distinct rills being confined to each one’s immediate neighborhood mostly, and interrupted by the serious business of dinner, seemed gradually, after a time, to unite its various streams into one common current. The attention of the doctor was first attracted from an unsuccessful attempt to quote to Mrs. Bernard Shakspeare’s famous recipe for cooking a beef-steak by an observation of Mr. Robinson to Mr. Armstrong, at whose left hand he sat, the seat at the right being occupied by Mrs. Bernard, next to whom sat the doctor.

“The results,” said the minister, “furnish, I fear, little encouragement for the future. Unless divine grace shall manifest itself in a more signal manner than has heretofore been vouchsafed, they seemed destined to die in their sins.”

“Is there, then, no escape from a doom so horrible?” inquired the low voice of Mr. Armstrong. “After being hunted from their ancient possessions, and denied even the graves of their fathers, must they perish everlastingly?”

“Can the clay say to the potter, ‘What doest thou?’” said Mr. Robinson. “He maketh one vessel to honor and another to dishonor. Repeated attempts have been made to civilize and Christianize them, but in vain. Whom He will He hardeneth.”

Mr. Armstrong sighed, and another sigh, so low it was unheard, stole from the bosom of his daughter.

“You are speaking of the Indians?” inquired the doctor.

“Yes,” said Mr. Robinson, “and of the failure of all attempts by Christians to ameliorate their condition.”

“And are you surprised it should be so?” inquired the doctor.

“The ways of Providence are inscrutable,” replied Mr. Robinson. “I pretend not to explain the reasons why they are deaf to the pleadings of the Gospel.”

“What,” cried the doctor, slightly altering his favorite author, “’hath not an Indian eyes? Hath not an Indian hands, organs, dimensions, senses, affections, passions? fed with the same food, hurt with the same weapons, subject to the same diseases, healed by the same means, warmed and cooled by the same winter and summer as a Christian is? If an Indian wrong a Christian, what is his humility? revenge; if a Christian wrong an Indian, what should his sufferance be, by Christian example? why, revenge.’ There, you have the whole in a nut-shell.”

“In addition to the difficulty growing out of their treatment by the whites, suggested by the doctor,” said the Judge, “there is another, which I consider insuperable, arising out of a difference of race.”

“I do not quite understand you,” observed Mr. Robinson.

“It is said by naturalists,” answered the Judge, “that man comprehends, within himself, the peculiarities of all inferior animals. Now, there are some capable of domestication, while others are irreclaimable. You may tame the horse, but not the tiger. The wild element controls the one, and is controllable in the other. In my opinion, this wild element so predominates in the Indian as to make him incapable of civilization. He is the tiger.”

“But some have been civilized,” remarked Mr. Armstrong.

“A quasi civilization, I grant,” said the Judge; “and were I to concede more, the exceptions are so few as only to confirm the rule.”

“Your theory opens a wide field for speculation,” said Mr. Robinson, “and I could bring many objections to it. In the first place”

“No doubt, no doubt,” cried the Judge, hastily, and desirous to avoid the arising collision, “and I shall be happy to examine the subject, at some future time, with you. I throw out these ideas only as hints. But there is another rule operative, if, indeed, it is not the same differently expressed the inferior must always give place to the superior race”

“That is not clear, either,” said the divine. “What race ever existed superior to the Jews? Yet, observe their condition.”

“I am not understood. Why, the Jews prove my theory. If they had not been a superior race, they would long ago have been extinct. But their number now is probably as great as it ever was. The Indians, however, are vanishing.”

“And, really, Mr. Bernard,” said his wife, “on your own principles, they will be no loss, if they do vanish. If a superior race succeeds, all the better.”

“Right, right, my dear,” cried her husband, “rem acu pshaw! I was going to quote Latin. They have had their day, and fulfilled their design.”

“It seems to me a deplorable necessity,” said Mr. Armstrong.

“There are many laws and purposes at work in the rise and fall of nations,” said the minister, “beyond our view. A peculiar mystery hangs over the devoted tribes; and, assign what reasons we please for their decay, there is only one satisfactory reason into which all the others are resolvable, viz: the determination of Providence. That determination is obvious. As the inhabitants of Canaan, were swept away for their iniquities, so is the red race destined to be extinguished; and it may be for a like reason they will not abandon their abominations.”

“They are as moral as the whites, generally, I believe,” said William Bernard.

“Alas, that word morality!” exclaimed the divine. “It is an ignis fatuus to mislead a broken reed to lean on.”

“But,” inquired Faith, anxiously, “do you think, sir, that nothing can be done for those who are left?”

“I see but little prospect of it,” said Mr. Robinson.

“There are some good people among them,” said the doctor, warmly. “I wish I was as sure of my own salvation as I am of poor Esther’s.”

This discussion scarcely disturbed the conversation between Anne Bernard and Pownal, who, much to his delight, found himself seated by her side. Nor did the contiguity seem displeasing to the lovely girl. What is the charm that gives boldness to the timid, and eloquence to the hesitating; which kindles the eye with a brighter lustre, and imparts a softer tone to the voice: which colors the cheek with frequent blushes, and fills the heart with unwonted flutterings? Sweet maiden, can you tell? Yet, what could they have so much to say to one another? They who are young, and they who have not forgotten the feelings of youth will readily find an answer.

“My heart warms to the Indians,” said Pownal, in a low tone, “whenever I hear them spoken of. It appears to me, sometimes,” continued he, smiling, “as if I were a sort of relation. Were I a believer in the transmigration of souls, I should think I had been, in some previous existence, an Indian myself.”

“Probably a Sachem, with your hair nicely shaved, except a little which was caught up into a knot like a cock’s comb, on top to hold an eagle’s feather,” said the laughing Anne. “How elegantly you must have looked after having made your toilette, preparatory to wooing some Indian Princess, with your face beautifully painted in all the colors of the rainbow, only handsomer. How I should have liked to see you. Hard-hearted must have been the fair who could resist such charms.”

“You have reason to laugh at me; it is very ridiculous, but”

“And then to think of the sad change that has befallen you! To subside from an eagle-feathered Sachem, eating succatash with an Indian Princess, into a tame civilized gentleman, in a swallow-tailed coat, handing apples to a poor little Yankee girl! I do not wonder you were melancholy and tried to shoot yourself.”

“It was the most fortunate shot I ever made, since”

“I am not sure of that. Perhaps if you had succeeded you might have been transmigrated back into the wigwam, and resumed your addresses to the Princess.”

“Your fancy outstrips mine. I find it hard, by the side of a real Princess, to think of an imaginary one.”

“Faithless, like all your fickle sex. Ah me, poor princess!”

Here Mrs. Bernard made a motion to rise, which was followed by the other ladies, and as Anne turned away she said:

“You who have set me an example of desertion can not be surprised at my leaving you, which please to consider a punishment for the Princess’ wrongs.”

“And a severe one,” said Pownal.

But a short time elapsed before the ladies were rejoined by the gentlemen in the withdrawing room, where we will leave them to look after some other friends of ours.

Upon the conclusion of his duties, Felix had opportunity to extend the rights of hospitality to General Ransome, who, true to his promise, had not failed to make his appearance in due time in the kitchen. There the worthy warrior had been received with all customary forms of politeness by Miss Rosa, and, installed in a high-back chair, awaited his share of the entertainment. And when the time arrived, seated between his friends, and opposite two other servants, there were few, if any, lighter and more careless hearts that day than the General’s. And of the whole company it may be said, that if they were not refined, they were at least merry.

“Ladies and genlmn,” said the General, soon after the repast had commenced, and seeming to think the toasts could not begin too soon, “do me de satisfacshum to fill you glasses. Wid you leave I’m going to gib a toast.”

On this day it was customary to extend an unusual degree of license to the servants, and hence there was no lack of generous liquors on the board, of the same descriptions as those drank by their superiors. And to do them justice, it was seldom the privilege was abused.

The glasses were quickly filled, and the General proposed “de healt’ ob de fair sec.” This was drunk with acclamation, and a gentleman observed, “dat de whole world acknowledge de superur beauty ob de ’Merican ladies.” This toast was followed by “De day we celumbrate;” and it was admitted on all sides that Thanksgiving was one of the most important institutions of the country. Felix, then, looking at his friend gave, “the heroes of the ’Merican Revolution;” whereupon, the old soldier considering it incumbent upon him to return thanks for the array, requested permission to make some remarks. Of course leave was readily granted, and the orator, gracefully rising and steadying himself on the sound leg, with the other a little drawn back, extended his right hand, and bowing all round began.

“Dere is noting,” he said, “so sweet as liberty. ’Tis dis dat make de eagle fedder light, and de bob-o-link sich a good singer. See de grand bird how he wheel right about face up to de sun, and hear de moosic ob de merry little fellow!

“Liberty, liberty,
Berry nice to be free!
Bob-o-link where he please,
Fly in de apple trees,
O, ’tis de Freedom note
Guggle sweet in him troat!
Jink-a-jink, jink-a-jink,
Winky wink, winky wink,
Ony tink, ony tink,
How happy, Bob-o-link!
Sweet! Sweet!

“King George, he want to make de Yankees drink tea instead ob coffee. Now dere is no comparishum ’atween de two, and who is dere would drink de little tea leaves dat look as dey been all chew and den roll up, when he can git good coffee? Now King George he hab a great lot ob dis tea on hand, and it sell berry slow, and he want to git rid ob it, so he send it to dis country wid orders dat ebery man, woman, and child shall drink at least four cup a day, and no coffee. So Broder Jonatan he rise like a cat back, and he say (begging you pardon, ladies), ’dam if I drink de tea.’ And a great many ob dem dress demselves up like Injuns, and one dark night dey heab all de tea oberboard in Bosson harbor, and all de fish get sick, dey say for a week. Now King George when he hear ob all dis he git mad and jerk his old wig on de ground, an stamp on it, and kick it in de fire, and say he make de ’Mericans pay for de tea. And after dat he send a big army to dis country, but it was no use. De ’Mericans whip dem orfully at Bunker Hill, and dat was de beginning ob de famous Resolution. And dey continues to drink de coffee; and I nebber drink no better dan Miss Rosa make in dis house (bowing to her). And for my ’sploits in de glorious Resolution you is welcome wid all my heart, ladies and genlmn; and for de complemen to de officers and sogers I gib dere best knowledgmn on dis ’casion.”

The General sat down amid a storm of applause. Miss Rosa after the excitement caused by his eloquence had subsided, observing that no toast had been given by any lady, offered to make up the deficiency herself, which proposal being eagerly accepted, she gave “Miss Faith; and when she marry may she be happy as the angels.” The toast was drank with right good will, though with somewhat more decorum than the others. Faith was greatly beloved by the servants, to that degree indeed, that the affectionate creatures doubted whether there was any man in the world fit to be her husband. But, enough of toasts and fine speeches. As the General very judiciously observed when Miss Rosa, who seemed to think he could not have too many delicacies, nor too much of them, offered to add to his already overfilled plate, “dere is ’bundance of cranberry saace for dis turkey.”

According to custom, as soon as it began to be dark, the bonfires were lighted, and flashing from various éminences made luminous the night, while joyous shouts of boys answered each other across the rivers and ravines.

At nine o’clock the bell rang out its usual warning, and before the clock struck the next hour, the inhabitants of Hillsdale had courted the repose of their pillows.