o us boys had a sort of mystic and undefined significance. Here we
procured bits of serpentine, interspersed with veins of _rag-stone_, as
we denominated asbestos, which, strangely enough, we used to chew. I
suppose that no boy ever went to that place alone, and a sort of solemn
ceremony attended his first visit with his older playmates, to a scene
bearing an appellation ominous enough to call up every vague dread of his
youthful heart. The approach on these occasions was rather circuitous,
through the pastures, until an elevated mass of stone, standing quite
solitary, was reached, designated as "Pulpit Rock." To the summit of
this, the neophyte was required to climb, and there to repeat some
accustomed formula, I fear not very reverent, by way of initiation, and
supposed to be of power to avert any malign influences to which the
unprepared intruder upon the premises of the nominal lord of the domain
might otherwise be subjected. For these youngsters the ordinary means of
education were abundantly supplied, and the girls, too, had their Academy
for those who aspired to something beyond the common range; and when, at
a later period, I became conversant with their circle, I must say that I
have never known young ladies of better manners or more cultivated minds.
As an evidence of more expansive benevolence than usual, and of
profounder interest in the affairs of the great world abroad, I remember
that when the class of students in Goldsmith's Ancient History came to
recitation, one young lady burst into a torrent of tears. The astonished
teacher anxiously inquired into the cause of her emotion. In the midst of
her sobs she ejaculated, "Oh, that good man, Socrates! To think they
should have treated him so!" She was finally soothed; but considering
that the incident in question was of a rather remote date, this
ebullition of feeling evinced a generous sympathy with a victim of past
injustice, truly worthy of a philanthropic mind.

It is still a town of stately mansions upon its principal street, and one
more beautiful can scarcely be imagined. The magnificent elms, of the
graceful American kind, which line its borders, have always been reckoned
a feature of extraordinary beauty. Of late years, special means for
supplying and preserving this elegant and useful kind of embellishment of
the streets have been provided by the liberal bequest, for this purpose,
of Mr. John Bromfield, a native of the town, but long a respected
merc