pping corn-fed wenches, who, by their united efforts,
tended marvelously toward peopling those notable tracts of country called
Nantucket, Piscataway, and Cape Cod.

CHAPTER VIII.

In the last chapter I have given a faithful and unprejudiced account of
the origin of that singular race of people inhabiting the country eastward
of the Nieuw Nederlandts, but I have yet to mention certain peculiar
habits which rendered them exceedingly annoying to our ever-honored Dutch
ancestors.

The most prominent of these was a certain rambling propensity with which,
like the sons of Ishmael, they seem to have been gifted by Heaven, and
which continually goads them on to shift their residence from place to
place, so that a Yankee farmer is in a constant state of migration,
tarrying occasionally here and there, clearing lands for other people to
enjoy, building houses for others to inhabit, and in a manner may be
considered the wandering Arab of America.

His first thought, on coming to the years of manhood, is to settle himself
in the world--which means nothing more nor less than to begin his rambles.
To this end he takes unto himself for a wife some buxom country heiress,
passing rich in red ribbons, glass beads, and mock-tortoiseshell combs,
with a white gown and morocco shoes for Sunday, and deeply skilled in the
mystery of making apple sweetmeats, long sauce, and pumpkin pie.

Having thus provided himself, like a pedlar, with a heavy knapsack,
wherewith to regale his shoulders through the journey of life, he
literally sets out on the peregrination. His whole family, household
furniture, and farming utensils are hoisted into a covered cart; his own
and his wife's wardrobe packed up in a firkin; which done, he shoulders
his axe, takes his staff in hand, whistles "Yankee doodle," and trudges
off to the woods, as confident of the protection of Providence, and
relying as cheerfully upon his own resources, as did ever a patriarch of
yore, when he journeyed into a strange country of the Gentiles. Having
buried himself in the wilderness, he builds himself a log hut, clears away
a corn-field and potato patch, and, Providence smiling upon his labors, is
soon surrounded by a snug farm and some half a score of flaxen-headed
urchins, who, by their size, seem to have sprung all at once out of the
earth like a crop of toadstools.

But it is not the nature of this most indefatigable of speculators to rest
contented with any state of s