me in, we are so
untidy; but I couldn't pack as I meant to, this afternoon."

How we dreaded his coming in,--half deacon, half shoemaker, and
two-thirds missionary, with his "Panoplist" sticking out of his
coat-pocket, and his ears evermore pricked up for the latest news from
Bombay! and how angry I had been for three weeks because I couldn't get
those indispensable galoches!

It seemed as if he never would go from the half-open door. He reckoned
the York folks would stare to see so many patches; he expected ministers
down to York warn't quite so carfle and troubled about many things, as
they be to Weston; but he added, with a grim joyfulness,--

"We took up a good collection, though, last Sabbath! eight dollars and
fifteen cents, clear!"

"Yes, Deacon," responded the minister, with as much heartiness as he
could muster, between the pushings, puffings, and pressings at the
carpet-bag; "a cup of cold water shall in no wise lose its reward, we're
told.--These carpet-bags stretch well!"

"Them poor, dear heathen!" groaned the Deacon.

"Oh, dreadful!" chimed I; "give me that biggest shawl, will you?--no,
the other,--Ursula Drury's! Shall we ever finish packing?"

"S'pose ye'll see th' A.B.C.F.M.!--Lucina Rand's put in 'the avails of a
hen,'--and Semela Briggs sold the silver thimble her aunt gin her. 'T
all helps the good work. I told the Widow Rand she'd ough' to do
somethin' for the heathen, so she's gone to raisin' mustard. She said
she hadn't more 'n a grain o' that to spare, she was so poor; but I told
her 't would be blest, I guessed. Widow Rand's rather worldly-minded,
I'm afraid."

A minute more and we should have had Hindostan, Harriet Newell, and
Juggernaut. Happily, somebody came for the Deacon, and we were left to
our packing again.

II.

This was the second week in May, in the year 1830. We were a promising
country, but had not yet performed. Neither railroads, telegraphs, nor
cheap postage had been established. Enthusiastic inventors yet sucked
their fingers in garrets, waiting for the good time coming; and
philanthropic statesmen aired their vocabularies in vain, in
Congressional halls, built in defiance of acoustics. Their words rose,
their fine sentiments curled up and down the pillars of the temple of
eloquence, and fell flat to the floor. Meanwhile human nature travelled
by stage-coaches; and postage for over a hundred miles rose to eighteen
cents. Not a lover's sigh for a cent less; and it