the end of the rector's discourse, I doubt not you would have heard a word in season. What do you keep such a large stick on your bed for?"

"Deed, mum, jist to hit at the rats as they run over me by night. I'm moighty bothered wi' rats, Mrs. Somerby."

manufactured by her own spinning-wheel, and who contrived, over and above, to send a pair of socks to her son's bairns, now and again, across the Border. She had a long tale to-day about her pig, which had mysteriously disappeared. Dark sus picions had fallen on Tom Brown, whose larder was known to have contained reinforcements of pork of late, and the old woman was in much distress at the col

A shudder passed over me, and I raised my eyes towards the roof of the miserable den. A rope stretched across one corner, whereon hung a very dingy-look-lapse of her Christmas prospects. Nelly ing garment, shaped like a shirt.

"Will no neighbor wash you a shirt, Tom?" said my grandmother.

"Deed, Mrs. Somerby, I canna afford washing. I wear my shirt as long as practicable, and then just hang it there till the flees drap aff it, and pit on the ither. It saves a warld o' trouble."

I was glad to leap back over Tom's cesspool, and enter presently a more agreeable-looking dwelling, where a bright, hearty woman welcomed us. But my grandmother was in a scolding mood today.

"Now, Peggy," said she irritably, "what's this I hear of you, another baby coming, and the last not walking yet! Fie, fie," and she looked quite crossly at poor Peggy, who, turning aside, and ready to cry, apologized humbly for the acci

dent.

"Oh, Mrs. Somerby, don't ye say a word. Poor John's that vexed, he is!"

"John should be ashamed of himself," said my grandmother severely, "and so should you. There is no excuse for such folly. Have you not enough to do as it is, with these three children, and you not four years married yet!"

"Oh, Mrs. Somerby, little Johnny can herd the coo like a man, and wee Betty there minds the cradle like a granny, and as for Tom" (catching up a fat infant of ten months), "he's ower big for the cradle now, bless him, greet lazy that he is; he'll be on his feet time enough, I'se warrant him."

Peggy was looking so blithely at the situation that my grandmother was worsted, and was presently promising divers acceptable offerings at the hour of need. As we escaped Peggy's tearful thanks, and crossed the fields towards Fairholm, we came upon a favorite pensioner, Highland Nelly. This old woman maintained herself by gathering sheep's wool from the fences and hedges for miles around. To-day she had her apron full, and was wearing her usual smile of contented faith, a little brown, lean, weather-beaten woman, whose decent garments were all

was a prime favorite at Fairholm, and was desired to make a visit to see the master, and consult him on the matter, as the moment was propitious, and a young litter in the fauld.

Oh! blessed time of small interests and simple joys, why so fleeting? Memory recalls it with a pang. Joys of the calm summer evenings, watching, in the low oak window-seat, the swallows skimming across the lawn; reading, perhaps, Home's old play, "Douglas," or the "Adventures of Sir Guy," or "Sir Bevis;" or walking, my hand locked in my grandfather's, up and down the terrace that ran round the dwelling, till darkness fell, and the twinkling waxlights within warned us of bedtime.

The bees had built in the roof that year and could not be dislodged. Their honey came dripping through the ceiling in my bedroom! What discomfiture! The swallows built under every gable, and there was a regular pitched battle between my grandmother and one-eyed Dinah on the one side, and a resolute pair of old swallows, my grandfather and myself, on the other. Build at the corner of the front door they would, and what Dinah's destroying broom ruthlessly knocked away one day, the birds built up again with incredible speed. At last the swallow was victorious, and sat, winking on her eggs at my grandmother, as she passed out and in, defeated on her own doorstep! Sad catastrophes occasionally occurred, when the birds, mistaking the great plate-glass windows for empty space, and seeing Paradise apparently beyond, would dash against them in such impetuous flight, that they were picked up lifeless. Blackbirds and thrushes were the chief victims. It is an odd fact that in a year or two they ceased to make the mistake, though how the younger generation was educated to caution is a mystery. A few stunned birds, who afterwards recovered, may possibly have acted as mentors. That summer came to an end too soon. As I hung about my grandfather's neck, the day we left Fair

holm, "I wish I were not going to leave | of that Anglo-Saxon influence which has you," I cried.

There was something very like a tear in the old man's eye as he answered, — Why, you can't stay with me forever, you know, Lotty!"

"You will send for me again, grandpapa!" I pleaded.

he.

"Will you come if I do, Lotty?" said

"To be sure I will," I replied. "Who shall hinder me?"

Vain, impetuous question, floating back to me after thirty years, along with the answer, so different from our loving expectations!

I stood, not long since, on the delicious old lawn at Fairholm, a woman rather weary of her tramp along life's dusty highway, and drank in the fragrant silence of that sacred enclosure, with its bird chirpings, and rustling of boughs, as the hunted hart drinks up the waterbrooks. As I looked round on the scene of so many childish joys, the old dreams came partly back. But the "childish things have indeed passed away forever. My grandfather's grave is green in Aspenkirk churchyard, and no whisper comes thence to tell whence he came, or whither he went. Does his spirit haunt these bowers, so redolent of his presence to me, though a ruthless young hand has carved the features of the beloved old place into strangeness, and change has rubbed off the ineffable bloom from his work as he left it? As a dream when one awaketh, so have the old things vanished clean away, and under the porch where I stand, softly saying farewell, the nestling swallow beneath the eaves answers, "Ich habe geliebt, und gelebet."

From The Contemporary Review. VILLAGE LIFE IN NEW ENGLAND.

thus far dominated all others, and has been gradually assimilating all foreign elements to itself. Up to thirty years ago the progress of unification was sure and steady.

Since that time the flood of immigration, and the expansion of the settled territory of the Union, has made the work more difficult and the result less certain. Foreign influences have re-acted to some extent upon New England itself; but, on the other hand, the great Middle States and many of the Western have come to be so thoroughly in sympathy with New England ideas, that the prospect is perhaps as hopeful as ever.

The mother country (why do we always say the mother country while the Germans know only a father land?) has every reason to be interested in everything that pertains to New England. Forty years ago the people were of purer English blood than those of any county in England. They were all descended from the families who came here from 1620 to 1650. Since 1840 there has been a large Irish immigration, but up to the present time there has been very little intermarriage between them and the old English families. There has been an occasional mixture of Scotch or Huguenot blood in a few families, but not enough to exert any general influence. The population is thoroughly English, and speaks the English language with more purity than the common people of any part of England. Two hundred years, with a totally different environment from that of the old country, has somewhat modified or differentiated the New Englander; but it is questionable whether he does not bear more resemblance to our common ancestors than does the Englishman of to-day. The "Pilgrim Fathers," whose portraits are carefully preserved, certainly had more of the Yankee than the John Bull in their faces. As to mental development, the English Bible and the English clas sics are our common inheritance, and the later English literature has been as widely read here as there.

E PLURIBUS UNUM is the motto of the United States, and it describes the country more accurately than those who adopted it could have anticipated. It is not Village life in New England is a study only one State made up of many, but it is of special interest, because it is a type of one nation made up of many races. No village life wherever New England ideas such mingling of various races has ever are dominant, because it is the real life of taken place before in the history of the the people of New England, and because world. It is also one country in which it practically illustrates the social progress may be found all climates and all stages of the country. I was born in a New of civilization. There is one government, England village, and have just returned with all forms of social life and an almost to it after having spent half my life in infinite variety of laws and customs. Europe. Fifty years ago it was a very New England has always been the centre | small village, built on two streets, which

son to desert his home as soon as he was his own master. They made scholars of the cleverer boys, and inspired them to push on to the college and the university. They gave a practical education to all. They developed individuality and independence of character. I remember the years that I spent in such a school with unmixed pleasure.

crossed at right angles, and gave the name of The Four Corners to the village; but the township was large, and had five thousand inhabitants, who were generally engaged in farming, although there were five or six small factories and furnaces in different parts of the township, and many of the farmers devoted a portion of their time to making nails at small forges at their own houses. The township was di- The church and the schoolhouse were vided into parishes, each with its church, the cornerstones of New England society. parsonage, and glebe, of the Congrega- Next to these was the "town-house." tional order, as this was the old Estab- This was a venerable and ugly wooden lished Church of Massachusetts; but the building, painted yellow, and full of narBaptists had invaded the territory and row, high, straight-backed benches. Here had a strong church, the only one in the the "town meetings" were held, and they village, as the parish church was two were the delight of my boyhood. This miles away. It was also divided into was the school of government and politisome twenty school districts, each one of cal science. Town government in Amerwhich had its schoolhouse, a small one- ica is purely democratic, and is the unit story wooden building, often in the midst in our system, the State government beof the woods, in which there was always ing carried on by representatives from a school in winter with a male teacher, the towns, and the central government and generally for three months in summer by representatives from the States. All with a female teacher. In the village was the citizens meet annually in the townan "academy," which fitted students for house to discuss the interests of the town, college, and also gave a higher education to decide upon the taxes and the expendito girls. All the schools were for both tures of the year, and to elect officers. sexes. The common schools were free Here is absolute equality, and in those to all, and the districts compelled by law old days I heard debates on political to maintain them by general taxation. economy and questions of government The instruction was sometimes good and which have influenced my life. Longsometimes inferior, but the teachers had winded speeches were not tolerated, but to pass an examination by a town com- there was a continual fire of ideas, facts, mittee before they could teach, and in- and fun. The language was generally competent ones who passed this ordeal rough and uncouth the jokes were were not unfrequently turned out of doors broad and homely, but they came from by their scholars. The teachers were men who knew what they wanted, and generally young men from the colleges, understood what they were talking about. who taught a few months in the year to Outside there was always a sort of fair, earn money for their own education, and with booths for the sale of food and many of the district-school teachers have drinks. Nothing rivalled the town meetsince become the most distinguished men ings in my eyes, except the annual “musin America. They generally "boarded ter," when the militia of the county went round," each family in the district enter- into camp every autumn for a few days taining them in turn. Their influence of exercise. This was a holiday for the was often very great: they came from the whole country round, and combined the outside world: they introduced a new ele- pomp of war with the gaieties of a fair. ment of life into the farmers' families, Gunpowder and brilliant uniforms always and generally exerted an inspiring influ- turn the heads of country people, and ence over their scholars. Not a few officers on horseback are always heroes young men found the best of wives into boys at least. The militia was popthese back-country schoolhouses. The ular at that time, and kept up by law. practical disadvantage of a frequent change of teachers was very much less than might have been anticipated; and, on the whole, I believe that those old schools were quite equal to the more pretentious and costly ones of the present day. They had one supreme advantage. They did not educate children into a distaste for work; nor teach every farmer's

The people were proud of it, and believed it to be invincible; but it is a curious fact, that since we have had our experience of real war, the militia has fallen into discredit, and there are now hardly troops enough in all Massachusetts to quell a serious riot.

The only other public places in the village were the taverns and "stores."

The style of living in the village was very simple. The houses were all of wood, and in general they were rather scantily furnished, although in many houses the furniture was of solid mahog any, and handed down from one generation to another. The best rooms were seldom used or even opened. There were no stoves or grates -—nothing but open wood fires; and the churches were never warmed, even in mid-winter. The spinning-wheel and loom were still in use, and the people ate but little beyond what they raised upon their own farms. There was no market in the village, but there was a butcher who occasionally sold meat from his cart through the town. The people were temperate in eating, if not in drink

These country stores sold everything-night—a singular fact, considering the they were curiosity shops, combining all amount of drunkenness. branches of business in one small room, and in the evening they were common places of resort, where men met to discuss the politics of the day, and to drink. Drinking was universal, and I have examined old account-books which show that even the Congregational ministers could not have a meeting without consuming rum by the gallon. Nothing could be done without rum, and of course drunkenness was the most prevalent vice, and liquor-selling the most profitable business. In those days newspapers were few, and the mania for travelling, which has seized upon the present age, was unknown. Then men were born, grew old, and died, without going beyond their native village. Mail-coaches, with four and sometimes six horses, passed through the village ing. In the midst of this simplicity of every day, but postage was very high, and letters were almost as few as the newspapers. But the few weekly papers which were taken were edited with ability, and were carefully read and fully discussed through the long winter evenings around the stove of the store. As the glass went round those discussions often became very violent, and sometimes ended in blows. I very well remember one of the sages who presided over these nightly meetings- -a lean, lank, lantern-jawed old man, with long hair and shabby clothes, who sat with his elbows on his knees and chewed tobacco, but who was a man of considerable wealth, with a very clear head and a wonderful knowledge of human nature. This was the strong point of the village politicians of those days, who read few books or papers, but who studied men and knew how to influence them.

There was, of course, a social life in the village quite apart from these unique symposia. There were evening parties, dances and tea-drinkings, to say nothing of corn-husking and quilting bees, singing-schools and spelling-matches, where the young people "did their courting." In some of these there was no little form and ceremony, very much after the old English fashions. Others were more free, and ended in fun and frolic. But there was always a certain Puritan reserve in the relations of the sexes, and bashfulness was characteristic of both. Every New England boy grew up with a profound respect for woman; and sexual immorality was very rare. In fact, at that time crime was almost unknown in the village, and no one thought of locking his door at

life there was no little culture and refinement. There were gentlemen and ladies in some of these farmhouses who would have done honor to any society in the world; who knew how to cultivate the fields or to make butter and cheese, but who could read Greek and Latin, and sometimes Hebrew; were familiar with English literature, with theology and politics, as well as with the arts and accomplishments of refined society. And they did not feel lost or lonely in their country homes, as they might now in this age of universal locomotion.

The village to-day is as characteristic a New England village as it was fifty years ago, but it belongs now to the modern New England, and not to the olden time, which I have dwelt upon for the purpose of illustrating more fully the social changes which have taken place. It is now a railway centre. In place of the few scattered houses on two streets, there is a population of more than three thousand, with shops, markets, and almost all the conveniences of a city. It is lighted with gas, the streets are watered, and, although the houses are still all of wood, there are some buildings of no little architectural merit. Many of the streets are ornamented with beautiful trees, and most of the houses have trees and gardens about them. There is no regular place of amusement, but the large and beautiful town-hall is almost constantly in use for this purpose, and there are also various clubs and societies. All summer there is a weekly promenade concert in one of the streets, and during the winter in the town-hall. There is everywhere an appearance of great material prosperity, and,

so far as I can learn, there is not a family there are four flourishing stables which in the village poor enough to need char- let horses by the hour. Every one is itable aid. Even the Irish families are well-dressed, and I think there are few not poor. But there is much that is houses where meat is not eaten twice a peculiar and worthy of consideration in day- few where the floors are not carthis material growth. It is remarkable peted and the rooms well furnished with that the population of the whole township expensive furniture. A good average has increased during this period only house rents for £40 sterling a year, but about twenty-five per cent., and that while most of them are owned by their occuland in the village has risen in value one pants. The taxes amount to one and onethousand per cent., in other parts of the quarter per cent. on the assessed value of town it is worth no more, and in many real and personal property, but a skilled cases much less, than it was fifty years laborer worth a thousand pounds can pay ago. A farm of two hundred acres, two his annual tax by sixteen to eighteen days' miles from the village, may now be pur- labor. The only sufferers from the taxachased for much less than the cost of the tion are those who own unproductive real buildings upon it. The amount of forest estate, and are not laborers. These are land has increased at least twenty-five per very few. There is a savings bank in the cent., and many houses have been moved town, which has been established only a bodily from the farms into the village. few years, but its deposits amount to At the same time that the farmers have £65,000 sterling, and large amounts are been moving from their farms into the known to be deposited in out-of-town village, all of the old manufactories have banks. The town has no debt of any died a natural death. The cotton facto-consequence. ries were too small to compete with those at Lowell and Fall River. The furnaces could not compete with those in England and Pennsylvania. Wrought nails were superseded by those made by machinery, and competition destroyed the manufac ture of agricultural implements. The valuable water-power in the town now works but a single mill, and that is a new one for woollen goods. Steam factories have been erected in the village for shoes, hats, needles, and boxes, but the value of the goods manufactured is not greater than it was fifty years ago. Once outside the village, the ruined mills and deserted farms speak rather of decay than of prosperity. In many parts of New England the Irish have come in and occupied the old farms, but here the rocky soil seems to be unattractive even to them. The farmers who are left are now beginning to devote themselves to the production of fruit, vegetables, and other things, which find a ready market in the neighboring cities, while they buy their corn from the West. In this way they can live with comfort, although they would probably all be glad to sell their farms and move into the village.

The people of the village seem to be industrious, for there are no idle men seen in the streets, and it is difficult to find an extra laborer when one is needed. Every one seems to live in comparative luxury, although there is not a man in the town worth £20,000 sterling, and very few worth £5,000. A very large number of families keep a horse and carriage, and

So far as its material prosperity is concerned, European socialists could hardly dream of a higher ideal. No rich, no poor,* no tyrannical landlords or manufacturers, and no oppressed laborers; but all enjoying everything that is essential to human development. All this exists, however, without the overthrow of either the Church or the State; and infidel beer-drinking German reformers might be surprised to learn that this happy state of society is due largely to the moral and religious character of the people. There is not a liquor-shop or beer-garden in the town, and hardly a man who ever takes anything stronger than tea or coffee. This is the most astonishing change which has taken place in the town in these fifty years. It is the result of a combination of moral influences and legal enactments. Neither would have accomplished much without the other, but for many years the laws were of a mild type, and the law of the State now is a local option law. The change has been brought about chiefly by moral means, and at the outset required great personal sacrifices on the part of many leading

There are persons in the township who receive aid from the town; nineteen superannuated or incompetent persons are very comfortably supported in the almshouse; thirty men and twenty-nine women received aid last year at their homes on account of illness or calamity of some kind. The whole amount expended by the and aid to individuals was about one thousand pounds. town (population 5,500) for the support of the almshouse Very few of the fifty-nine persons aided were entitled to it, and it would undoubtedly have been better for them and for the community if they had been left to the care of their neighbors and friends. In England not one of them would have applied for aid.