AN OLD-STYLE FARM 



of horse-sheds, the lack of which upon that 

 bare waste was a terrible source of discomfort 

 to the poor brutes who, after a drive of three, 

 four, or even five miles, stood shivering in the 

 December weather under the lee of the fences. 

 A good, kind parson, who presided over the 

 parish in the days of which I speak, was earn- 

 est in his appeals for shelter to the poor brutes, 

 (my little bay mare often shivering among 

 them,) but the charitable enthusiasm of the 

 good minister counted for nothing ; and to this 

 day, as I am credibly informed, the "contem- 

 plated sheds" remain unbuilt. 



There was a tavern, lying to the northward, 

 along the turnpike ; and if I remember rightly, 

 the tavern-keeper was a deacon — a staid man, 

 of course, who kept an orderly house, and 

 whose daughters, in flamboyant ribbons, were 

 among the belles of the parish. The father 

 was, I believe, a most worthy man; but his 

 rusty brown wig showed badly beside the 

 great flock of golden curls that flanked him 

 in his meeting-house pew. His boys were ab- 

 sentees, and addicted to horse-trading. 



There was a cooper's shop upon the sprawl- 

 ing street, in which a great clatter and bang 

 were kept up every work-day upon shad-bar- 

 rels. There was a carriage-repairing shop; 



