med, and if the contrary, saved,
and who responded, "Spose'n dey boff de same, missus?"

These are told with inimitable spirit and mimicry, as want of clerical
wit is a direct impeachment of the validity of one's "call" to preach;
and when the table is filled, and with outstretched hands the blessing
said, our father gets a universal compliment for his carving. There is
roast turkey, with rich stuffing, bright cranberry sauce, and savory
pies of pumpkin, mince, and persimmon, cider to wash down the mealy
ripeness of the sweet potato, and at the end transparent quinces
drowned in velvet cream. How glibly goes the time! We play with a
young miss, who shows us her library, in which, we are sorry to say, a
book about pirates deeply absorbs us. But at last the sulky comes to
the door; we say good-by with touched full hearts, and pass hummingly
to appointment No. 2.

This is "Sand Hill," perhaps, or "Mumpson Town," or "Ebenezer," or
"Dry Pond;" and when we have mustered again in the afternoon, and in
the evening for the third time, turn Sal's head toward the parsonage,
and sail along in the night, cold and worn, past fields of stubble,
over which the wind sweeps, past negro cabins, watching like human
things upon us, through dreary woods where the tall pines rock against
the stars and the clouds sail whitely by like witches going to a
rendezvous, past cheerful homes, gleaming light and rest and worldly
competence, the owners whereof have heard no deep command to carry the
gospel into wildernesses, or hearing disobeyed. And all the while our
father sings softly to himself, looking now and then at us who are his
cross, and again into the shining constellations which hide his crown.

But we "preacher's sons," by which name we are universally
distinguished, have our own crosses as well. It is generally agreed
that much ought to be expected of us and little obtained. Let one of
us play truant from school, or use a naughty word in play, or make
marbles a source of revenue, or fight on the common when provoked, or
steal a cherry, and the fact travels our town over like a telegram. We
once suffer greatly in repute by selling our neighbor's old iron and
brass to an itinerant pedler, and are alleged to have run up a debit
account of one dime with an old negro who sells spruce beer and "horse
cakes"--whereafter we fail.

The church people, much to our dissatisfaction, present us with
castaway coats and boots, which we are made to we