support than a balloon. There were no young people whom we knew, though
a number used to come to church on Sunday from the inland farms, or "the
country," as we learned to say. There were children among the
fishermen's families at the shore, but a few years will see Deephaven
possessed by two classes instead of the time-honored three.

As for our first Sunday at church, it must be in vain to ask you to
imagine our delight when we heard the tuning of a bass-viol in the
gallery just before service. We pressed each other's hands most
tenderly, looked up at the singers' seats, and then trusted ourselves to
look at each other. It was more than we had hoped for. There were also a
violin and sometimes a flute, and a choir of men and women singers,
though the congregation were expected to join in the psalm-singing. The
first hymn was

"The Lord our God is full of might,
The winds obey his will,"

to the tune of St. Ann's. It was all so delightfully old-fashioned; our
pew was a square pew, and was by an open window looking seaward. We
also had a view of the entire congregation, and as we were somewhat
early, we watched the people come in, with great interest. The Deephaven
aristocracy came with stately step up the aisle; this was all the chance
there was for displaying their unquestioned dignity in public.

Many of the people drove to church in wagons that were low and old and
creaky, with worn buffalo-robes over the seat, and some hay tucked
underneath for the sleepy, undecided old horse. Some of the younger
farmers and their wives had high, shiny wagons, with tall
horsewhips,--which they sometimes brought into church,--and they drove