dent, were,
indeed, the three capital adjectives of her vocabulary, and to deserve
them was her eleventh commandment.

With one exception, these were the texts of all her homilies, and the
exception was, unluckily, one which admitted of much more argument.

It was the history of the puritans. But upon this subject, she was as
dexterous a special pleader as Neale, and as skilful in giving a false
coloring to facts, as D'Aubigne. But she had the advantage of these
worthies in that her declamation was quite honest: she had been taught
sincerely and heartily to believe all she asserted. She was of the
opinion that but two respectable ships had been set afloat since the
world began: one of which was Noah's ark, and the other the Mayflower.
She believed that no people had ever endured such persecutions as the
puritans, and was especially eloquent upon the subject of "New England's
Blarney-stone," the Rock of Plymouth.

Indeed, according to the creed of her people, historical and religious,
this is the only piece of granite in the whole world "worth speaking
of;" and geologists have sadly wasted their time in travelling over the
world in search of the records of creation, when a full epitome of
everything deserving to be known, existed in so small a space! All the
other rocks of the earth sink into insignificance, and "hide their
diminished heads," when compared to this mighty stone! The Rock of
Leucas, from which the amorous Lesbian maid cast herself disconsolate
into the sea, is a mere pile of dirt: the Tarpeian, whence the Law went
forth to the whole world for so many centuries, is not fit to be
mentioned in the same day: the Rock of Cashel, itself, is but the
subject of profane Milesian oaths; and the Ledge of Plymouth is the real
"Rock of Ages!" It is well that every people should have something to
adore, especially if that "something" belongs exclusively to themselves.
It elevates their self-respect: and, for this object, even historical
fictions may be forgiven.

But, as we have intimated, in the course of time the schoolmistress
became a married woman; and as she gathered experience, she gradually
learned that New England is not the whole "moral vineyard," and that
one might be more profitably employed than in disputing about
questionable points of history. New duties devolved upon her, and new
responsibilities rained fast. Instead of teaching the children of other
people, she now raised children for other people