of song and ballad. Welcome to us in our country seclusion, as
Autolycus to the clown in "Winter's Tale,"(1) we listened with
infinite satisfaction to his reading of his own verses, or to his
ready improvisation upon some domestic incident or topic
suggested by his auditors. When once fairly over the
difficulties at the outset of a new subject his rhymes flowed
freely, "as if he had eaten ballads, and all men's ears grew to
his tunes." His productions answered, as nearly as I can
remember, to Shakespeare's description of a proper ballad,--
"doleful matter merrily set down, or a very pleasant theme sung
lamentably." He was scrupulously conscientious, devout,
inclined to theological disquisitions, and withal mighty in
Scripture. He was thoroughly independent; flattered nobody,
cared for nobody, trusted nobody. When invited to sit down at
our dinner-table he invariably took the precaution to place his
basket of valuables between his legs for safe keeping. "Never
mind they basket, Jonathan," said my father; "we shan't steal
thy verses." "I 'm not sure of that," returned the suspicious
guest. "It is written, 'Trust ye not in any brother.'"

(1) "He could never come better," says the clown in
Shakespeare's *The Winter's Tale,* when Autolycus, the
pedler, is announced; "he shall come in. I love a ballad but
even too well, if it be doleful matter merrily set down, or a very
pleasant thing indeed and sung lamentably." Act IV. scene 4.

Thou, too, O Parson B.,--with thy pale student's brow and
rubicund nose, with thy rusty and tattered black coat overswept
by white, flowing locks, with thy professional white neckcloth
scrupulously preserved when even a shirt to thy back was