civic station in the first of cities. Of all men in the world, we should
least expect to meet the Lord Mayor of London--as Sir Richard Saltonstall
has been, once and again--in a forest-bordered settlement of the western
wilderness.

Farther down the street, we see Emanuel Downing, a grave and worthy
citizen, with his son George, a stripling who has a career before him;
his shrewd and quick capacity and pliant conscience shall not only exalt
him high, but secure him from a downfall. Here is another figure, on
whose characteristic make and expressive action I will stake the credit
of my pictorial puppet-show.

Have you not already detected a quaint, sly humor in that face,--an
eccentricity in the manner,--a certain indescribable waywardness,--all
the marks, in short, of an original man, unmistakably impressed, yet kept
down by a sense of clerical restraint? That is Nathaniel Ward, the
minister of Ipswich, but better remembered as the simple cobbler of
Agawam. He hammered his sole so faithfully, and stitched his upper-
leather so well, that the shoe is hardly yet worn out, though thrown
aside for some two centuries past. And next, among these Puritans and
Roundheads, we observe the very model of a Cavalier, with the curling
lovelock, the fantastically trimmed beard, the embroidery, the ornamented
rapier, the gilded dagger, and all other foppishnesses that distinguished
the wild gallants who rode headlong to their overthrow in the cause of
King Charles. This is Morton of Merry Mount, who has come hither to hold
a council with Endicott, but will shortly be his prisoner. Yonder pale,
decaying figure of a white-robed woman, who glides slowly along the
street, is the Lady Arabella, looking for her own grave in the virgin
soil. That other female form, who seems to be talking--we might almost
say preaching or expounding--in the centre of a group of profoundly