a majestic toss of the head soars away, with half the women below
straggling on in his wake, into some such brave old melody
as--LITCHFIELD!

Being a visitor, and in the Squire's pew, you are naturally an object of
considerable attention to the girls about your age, as well as to a
great many fat old ladies in iron spectacles, who mortify you
excessively by patting you under the chin after church; and insist upon
mistaking you for Frank; and force upon you very dry cookies spiced with
caraway seeds.

You keep somewhat shy of the young ladies, as they are rather stout for
your notions of beauty, and wear thick calf-skin boots. They compare
very poorly with Jenny. Jenny, you think, would be above eating
gingerbread between service. None of them, you imagine, ever read
"Thaddeus of Warsaw," or ever used a colored glass seal with a Cupid and
a dart upon it. You are quite certain they never did, or they could not
surely wear such dowdy gowns, and suck their thumbs as they do!

The farmers you have a high respect for,--particularly for one
weazen-faced old gentleman in a brown surtout, who brings his whip into
church with him, who sings in a very strong voice, and who drives a span
of gray colts. You think, however, that he has got rather a stout wife;
and from the way he humors her in stopping to talk with two or three
other fat women, before setting off for home, (though he seems a little
fidgety,) you naively think that he has a high regard for her opinion.
Another townsman who attracts your notice is a stout old deacon, who,
before entering, always steps around the corner of the church, and puts
his hat upon the ground, to adjust his wig in a quiet way. He then
marches up the broad aisle in a stately manner, and plants his hat and a