rly twenties he read Schlemiel's "Philosophy of
History," one of the volumes which, when a youth, he had found in an old
bookstall in New York, on the occasion of his first trip there.

"Off there through what we used to call the 'Long Woods' lies the road
along which Father used to travel in the autumn when he took his butter
to Catskill, fifty miles away. Each boy went in turn. When it came my
turn to go, I was in a great state of excitement for a week beforehand,
for fear my clothes would not be ready, or else it would be too cold, or
that the world would come to an end before the time of starting. Perched
high on a spring-seat, I made the journey and saw more sights and
wonders than I have ever seen on a journey since."

On the drive up from the village he showed me the place, a mile or more
from their haunts on the breezy mountain lands, where the sheep were
driven annually to be washed. It was a deep pool then, and a gristmill
stood near by. He said he could see now the huddled sheep, and the
overhanging rocks with the phoebes' nests in the crevices.

"Down in the Hollow," as they call the village of Robbery, he drew my
attention to the building which was once the old academy, and where
he had his dream of going to school. He remembers as a lad of thirteen
going down to the village one evening to hear a man, McLaurie, talk up
the academy before there was one in Roxbury. "I remember it as if it
were yesterday; a few of the leading men of the village were there. I
was the only boy. I've wondered since what possessed me to go. In
his talk the man spoke of what a blessing it would be to boys of that
vicinity, pointing me out and saying, 'Now, like that boy, there.' I
recall how I dropped my head and blushed. He was a small man, very much
in earnest. When I heard of his death a few years ago, it gave me long,
long thoughts. He finally got the academy going, taught it, and had a
successful school there for several years, but I never got there. The
school in the West Settlement, Father thought, was good enough for me.
But my desire to go, and dreaming of it, impressed it and him upon me
more, perhaps, than the boys who really went were impressed. How outside
of it all I felt when I used to go down there to the school exhibitions!
It was after that that I had my dream of going to Harpersfield
Seminary--the very name had a romantic sound. Though Father had promised
me I might go, when the time came he couldn't afford it;