appears in the very chair where the stately governor sat down. He
overflows with jovial tales of the forecastle and of his father's hut,
and stares to see the gravity of his guests become more and more
portentous in exact proportion as his own merriment increases. A noise
of drum and fife fortunately breaks up the session.

The governor and his guests go forth, like men bound upon some grave
business, to inspect the trainbands of the town. A great crowd of
people is collected on the common, composed of whole families, from the
hoary grandsire to the child of three years. All ages and both sexes
look with interest on the array of their defenders; and here and there
stand a few dark Indians in their blankets, dull spectators of the
strength that has swept away their race. The soldiers wear a proud and
martial mien, conscious that beauty will reward them with her approving
glances; not to mention that there are a few less influential motives to
contribute to keep up an heroic spirit, such as the dread of being made
to "ride the wooden horse" (a very disagreeable mode of equestrian
exercise,--hard riding, in the strictest sense), or of being "laid neck
and heels," in a position of more compendiousness than comfort. Sir
William perceives some error in their tactics, and places himself with
drawn sword at their head. After a variety of weary evolutions, evening
begins to fall, like the veil of gray and misty years that have rolled
betwixt that warlike band and us. They are drawn into a hollow square,
the officers in the centre; and the governor (for John Dunton's
authority will bear us out in this particular) leans his hands upon his
sword-hilt, and closes the exercises of the day with a prayer.