94 ALONG THE HILLSBOROUGH. 
the village street. One might live and die 
in a New England village without seeing 
such a sight. A Yankee would have be- 
taken himself to the corner grocery. But 
here, though that “ adjunct of civilization ” 
was directly across the way, most likely it 
had never had a stove in it. The sun would 
give warmth enough in an hour, — by nine 
o'clock one would probably be glad of a 
sunshade; but the man was chilly after his 
ride ; it was still a bit early to go about the 
business that had brought him into town: 
what more natural than to hitch his horse, 
get together a few sticks, and kindle a blaze? 
What an insane idea it would have seemed 
to him that a passing stranger might re- 
member him and his fire three months 
afterward, and think them worth talking 
about in print! But then, as was long ago 
said, it is the fate of some men to have 
greatness thrust upon them. 
This main street of the village, by the 
way, with its hotels and shops, was no other 
than my river road itself, in its more civil- 
ized estate, as I now remember with a sense 
of surprise. In my mind the two had never 
any connection. It was in this thorough- 
