admitted to have been more remarkable for frankness than civility,
made, however, no ill impression on Mrs. Sally. To the farmer's she
went, and at his house she lives still, with her little maid, her
tabby cat, a decrepit sheep-dog, and much of the lumber of Court
Farm, which she could not find in her heart to part from. There she
follows her old ways and her old hours, untempted by matrimony, and
unassailed (as far as I hear) by love or by scandal, with no other
grievance than an occasional dearth of employment for herself and
her young lass (even pewter dishes do not always want scouring), and
now and then a twinge of the rheumatism.

Here she is, that good relique of the olden time--for, in spite of
her whims and prejudices, a better and a kinder woman never lived--
here she is, with the hood of her red cloak pulled over her close
black bonnet, of that silk which once (it may be presumed) was
fashionable, since it is still called mode, and her whole stout
figure huddled up in a miscellaneous and most substantial covering
of thick petticoats, gowns, aprons, shawls, and cloaks--a weight
which it requires the strength of a thrasher to walk under--here she
is, with her square honest visage, and her loud frank voice;--and we
hold a pleasant disjointed chat of rheumatisms and early chickens,
bad weather, and hats with feathers in them;--the last exceedingly
sore subject being introduced by poor Jane Davis (a cousin of Mrs.
Sally), who, passing us in a beaver bonnet, on her road from school,
stopped to drop her little curtsy, and was soundly scolded for her
civility. Jane, who is a gentle, humble, smiling lass, about twelve
years old, receives so many rebukes from her worthy relative, and
bears them so meekly, that I should not wonder if they were to be
followed by a legacy: I sincerely wish they may. Well, at last we
said good-bye; when, on inquiring my destination, and hearing that I