But the yellow corn lays bare of husks now, and many hands make light work of clearing the long kitchen for the dance. Black Pelham mounts the stool on the table, tunes his fiddle and rosins his bow, while the couples range themselves in long. lines down the kitchen and then the dance begins Agility and speed took the place of grace in those days, and the lightest dancer was reckoned the best, he who could spring straight upward over a foot, keeping time to the music, being a fine one indeed. It once happened that a young man sprang so high that he got entangled in the strings of dried apple, and brought several yards of it on to the floor.

dried apple are festooned overhead; story was just as old then as now. while groups of wooden candle-sticks At huskings the blind god is imprisare nailed to the rafters. A huge oned in the ear of red corn, the first pile of corn extends the length of the finder being entitled thereby to kiss kitchen; and now the company begin whoever he chooses. to arrive, on foot and on horseback, the young man sitting in front, his girl behind him on a pillion. High tones and merriment usher in each party, and jokes, making up in laughter what they lack in wit, fly about the room. Homespun, that one year covers the sheep, and the next, its owner, sets well if not easily on the young man. His shirt collar, of home-made linen, is uncomfortably high and stiff, as the red, tortured ears plainly show (but what will one not undergo to be well dressed!); a buff vest gleams in front, while a swallow-tailed coat, from the pocket of which dangles a colored handkerchief, adorns the wearer; small-clothes and buckled shoes complete the costume,-unless I speak of the hair, which is combed straight back to end in a queue behind. Stout, honest, and merry, the delicate beau of to-day cannot compare with these "sparks" of a bygone generation. And the girls, white-necked, rosy-cheeked, brighteyed, and jolly, in their short-waisted, scant-skirted, big-sleeved, linseywoolsey gowns, with stout shoes, hair braided high and with ornaments of gold beads or a silver comb! What noble-hearted matrons they made, and how we honor these great-grandmothers of ours! But they are not taking a peep into futurity, nor at us, their unworthy descendants, but are sitting in couples around the heapedup corn, singing old ditties, cracking jokes, sipping home-made cider, and whispering love,-for the "old, old

The husking ends early, and the young people go home none the worse for their frolic.

The quilting was an afternoon festival for the matrons and maidens, ending by the men's coming to shake the quilt, to eat supper with them, and, sometimes, to dance awhile afterwards. The quilt was pieced of home-made flannel, dyed with indigo, mulberry, or madder, and stuffed with wool. The writer of this chapter has an old quilt of this description, which has been handed down through several generations.

The apple-bee was another sober festival; but the junket was without work, and a more ambitious one, occasionally taking place at the "tavern stand."

Training-day was a piece of mili

THE OLD NORTH CHURCH OF CONCORD.

READ IN THE ABBOTT CHAPEL, JAN. 27, 1887.

Upon this spot, where church and chapel stand,
But eight score years ago was wild-wood land.
Here tangled forests echoed to the tread

Of dusky warriors and their war-whoop dread.
Where now yon shapely spire points to the sky,
Were lofty pines with summits full as high,
Beneath whose branches, in the grateful shade,
Have wandered Indian brave and Indian maid.
Here in their wigwams by the river side
Have countless generations lived and died;
Here were their pleasures few, their many woes;
Here were their feasts, their battles with their foes.
Here, when their lords to hunt or fish had gone,
The squaws would cultivate their patch of corn.
Here lived the mighty chieftain of their race,
In war so valiant, cunning in the chase.
Now all have disappeared and left no trace
Save in the names which dignify the place.
Contoocook, Merrimack, and Soucook, too,
And Penacook, are names they left to you.
For them no cemetery was laid out,

Their dust o'er hill and vale is spread about.

Were they unhappy? Let us view the case:
They had the pleasures of the hunt and chase;
They had no rum-shops in or near the place;
They had no politicians, no ring rule;
The boys and girls were not confined in school.
They had no counting-house, no shop, no mill;
They had no gas, no coal, no butcher's bill.
They had no pigs, nor cows, nor hens to feed ;
Of saw, and axe, and books they had no need.
They had no engine shrieking through the night;
They had no motor, and no horse to fright.
They had no parlors then to sweep and dust,

No nickle-plated silver-ware to rust;

No contribution box, no bank to burst;

No tariff high or low, and no free-trade;
Of competition they were not afraid.

*

They had no corporations then to fear,
And no hand-organs rasping on the ear.
They lived on venison and salmon-trout,
And on the whole knew what they were about.
In fact, our friends, the aborigines,

Of trouble borrowed none, and lived at ease,-
Indeed had no one but themselves to please.

Into this Indian paradise there came

A white man from the south in search of game:
'T was Ebenezer Eastman, known to fame.
This Ebenezer was of great renown,

And claimed as pioneer in many a town.
Behind him came the Walkers, Bradleys, too,
The Ballards, Farnums, Abbotts, Smiths a few,

The Kimballs, Chandlers, Holts,-good men and true.
With Christian zeal their manly hearts were warmed:
Here in the wilderness a church they formed.
They laid out present Main street, straight and wide,
And built a meeting-house close by its side;
Divided land in lots of equal size,

And in their ways were circumspect and wise.

When they had finished preparations all,
The Reverend Timothy Walker had a call
To settle as their pastor in the fall.
For over fifty years he led his flock-

In times of peace and in the fearful shock
Of Indian wars brought on by foreign hate,
When many settlers met their frightful fate.
He served them faithfully until the end,
As pastor, justice, counsellor, and friend.
For them his house was made into a fort;
For justice pleaded in a foreign court;

He faced the storms upon the ocean's breast;

His life he gave to labor-not to rest.
No doubt he had his hair done in a queue,
Wore silver buckles and knee-breeches too.
We think he could distinguish right from wrong;
We know his cane was nearly five feet long.
We think he rather liked his joke and fun ;

We know that he could handle sword or gun.
He christened children, funeral sermons preached,
Joined man and maid when proper age was reached;
Attended to his duties, great and least,

For all the country round was teacher, priest.
In fact his parish was the township wide;
From distant farms they gathered to his side.
From Turtle pond, from Broken Ground near by,
From Break o' Day, and from the Mountain high,
From the Dark Plain, and from the Sugar Ball,
From Long pond, Horse hill, and from Sewall's fall,
From Mast Yard, Garvin's, Millville, Turkey pond,
Would gather children and their parents fond
At the old meeting-house at the North End,
To hear the sermons of their reverend friend.
Some came afoot, with shoes and socks in hand:
To save the leather was this method planned.
Some came on horseback with the wife behind:
The horse-block where they landed one will find
In Mr. Walker's door-yard at North End,
To prove my statement and the truth defend.

For many years the church and town were one— Long after Mr. Walker's work was done. The Reverend Israel Evans next was called, Then A. McFarland was in turn installed.

Then fresh from Yale and Andover there came
Nathaniel Bouton,-honored be his name !—
Whose history of the town increased his fame.
'Twas here he labored from his early youth.
To green old age, instilling gospel truth.
His heart led him his Maker to adore,
His head was filled with antiquarian lore;
He loved not history less, but Scripture more.
E'en now there seems to linger round this place
His gentle presence and his noble face.

Next came our present pastor, Mr. Ayer, Who now for twenty years has held the care Of church and flock, and lead us on the way, The old, the young, the sad ones and the gay, To where he teaches is eternal day.

If Mr. Chase will now the church doors lock,
Or hold them firmly as the granite rock,
And let no guilty one from here escape
Save o'er his mangled form and manly shape,
We'll try to photograph for you the flock,
But no one's sensibilities will shock.