Aminadab sat by his parlor fire, comfortable alike in his inner
and his outer man. "Well, Hannah," said he, "I've taken thy advice. I
did n't vote for the great fighter to-day."

"I'm glad of it," said the good woman, "and I dare say thee feels the
better for it."

Aminadab Ivison slept soundly that night, and saw no more of the little
iron soldier.

PASSACONAWAY. (1833.)

I know not, I ask not, what guilt's in thy heart, But I feel
that I love thee, whatever thou art.
Moor.

THE township of Haverhill, on the Merrimac, contained, in the autumn of
1641, the second year of its settlement, but six dwelling-houses,
situated near each other, on the site of the present village. They were
hastily constructed of rude logs, small and inconvenient, but one remove
from the habitations of the native dwellers of the wilderness. Around
each a small opening had been made through the thick forest, down to the
margin of the river, where, amidst the charred and frequent stumps and
fragments of fallen trees, the first attempts at cultivation had been
made. A few small patches of Indian corn, which had now nearly reached
maturity, exhibited their thick ears and tasselled stalks, bleached by
the frost and sunshine; and, here and there a spot of yellow stubble,
still lingering among the rough incumbrances of the soil, told where a
scanty crop of common English grain had been recently gathered. Traces
of some of the earlier vegetables were perceptible, the melon, the pea,
and the bean. The pumpkin lay ripening on its frosted vines, its sunny
side already changed to a bright golden color; and the turnip spread out
its green mat of leaves in defiance of the season. Everything around
realized the vivid picture of Bryant's Emigrant, who:

"Hewed the dark old woods away,
And gave the virgin fields to the day
And the pea and the bean beside the door
Bloomed where such flowers ne'er bloomed before;
And the maize stood up, and the bearded rye
Bent low in the breath of an unknown sky."

Beyond, extended the great forest, vast, limitless, unexplored, whose
venerable trees had hitherto bowed only to the presence of the storm,
the beaver's tooth, and the axe of Time, working in the melancholy
silence of natural decay. Before the dwellings of the white
adventurers, the broad