great effort was made to erase old differences, and a barrel of rum was voted and disposed of to inaugurate an era of good feeling. But the next day a town meeting had to be called, "to find out who by cutting had damnified the meeting-house," an attempt having been made with axes in the night to undo the labor of the day. The first minister of the place was a Mr. Emerson, the ancestor, seven generations back, of Ralph Waldo Emerson, with ministers all the way between them. Several of his successors were men of force and character; and in a time when the minister was much more of a social influence than at present, did much toward giving to the town a manly spirit. Like Jerusalem of old, the town is "beautiful for situation;" occupying a high position, overlooking lovely hills in every direction. Especially pleasant is the out-look from the farm-house where Jason Staples lived, and where his children were born to him. Augustus always took a hearty pride in the physical beauty of the place; all his life long went back to it with joy, and revelled in its walks and drives and views, and longed at such times to have his friends with him; would write them glowing letters, some of which, to Collyer, for example, are full of pine-scent and the smell of the ground. Here he would bring his wife, and never tire of driving her about the country, pointing out every spot that was associated with his early life, giving one reminiscence after another in his dreamy way, while the old horse, about which he used to joke his father a good deal, would drone along, often stopping to browse by the way without its being noticed. There was the rock he crept under the first time he tried to swear he wanted to swear that he might feel manly, and he thought that God's wrath couldn't reach him underneath the rock. There was Mendon Pond, a

beautiful sheet of water; its pleasant banks where he had fished and bathed; its dim, solemn recollections of the eldest brother whose lifeless body was brought home from there one bright summer morning. There was the oldest sister's farm and home, where every thing was upon such a generous scale-in such order and complete repair, and so full of solid comfort; and the sister with her large, tender soul, always gentle with him, and ready to shield him from every annoyance. He never forgot his sense of desolation when this sister was married and went away from home; how he stole from home and went to her house, how she took him to her room, and soothed and comforted his rebellious little heart. There was the dark wood that had to be passed in going to his sister's house, and which his youthful imagination peopled with "gorgons and chimeras dire." There was the little school-house where he first went to school, and the big school-house where he did his first teaching, and got his first deep sense of power. All these associations, not very significant for others, were marvelously so for him, and grew more so at the last, when his heart went out as never before to all the old places and old friends.

Of seven children Augustus was the fifth. After him there came another Henry to take the place of the Henry who was drowned; and another Rachel to take the place of one who died. It was no easy living that the old people got from their farm. But there was more love than money in the house, and an amount of intelligence far in excess of the amount of culture, though both parents were exceedingly fond of books, and read as much of a good sort as their busy life would let them. The mother is still living, a tall, straight, noble-looking woman, as queenly a woman in

her make as one would meet in a day's journey, a predestined mother of prophets, wonderfully fresh at the end of her appointed three score years and ten, and well named Phila. From her Augustus inherited many a noble trait. The father died six years ago. In one of his letters Augustus speaks of him as one of Nature's poets." In another, written after his death, he says:

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"It will be a disappointment to me, as long as I live, to think that father did not come to visit us at Brooklyn. I have looked forward to your coming together ever since we have been there, and then to think that he had made up his mind to come, and then was disappointed, seems very hard.

"Father's life has been a very hard one in many respects. He has been a hard-working man, and has seen a great deal of trouble and anxiety, and has borrowed a great deal of unnecessary trouble. Still, the trouble which he borrowed was just as real and just as hard to bear as any other. Let us be glad that he lived long enough to see the fruits of his hard work, and to taste the pleasure of having all the money he needed, and, above all, of seeing a large family grow up to prosperity and usefulness. And yet, in spite of all that father has suffered, few men have enjoyed more, and few men have got more good out of life. He was for the most part cheerful, and always in the enjoyment of perfect health. He loved good society, and found a world of pure and elevated enjoyment in the hosts of good books which he was always reading. I have known few men who improved so fast in every way, as he has done for the last few years. It seems as if he might have enjoyed the next ten years more than any others of his whole life. Still his strength was failing, and he could not have enjoyed life after he had become unable to work. His great soul and noble mind never found half room enough to grow in here; they will now blossom out in all their beauty. We have every thing to be proud and grateful for in our father's life. It was so pure,

and true, and high-minded, and honest, amid the most trying circumstances, that I can not think of it without an emotion of pride and thankfulness."

Even more worthy of remark than the particular traits here mentioned, are certain others. Says one who knew him well:

"He was a remarkable man. I never heard him give expression to a narrow thought; full of real sentiment, he was fastidiously afraid of any thing bordering upon sentimentality. His feelings were very tender, and he would manoeuvre in all sorts of ways, and put himself to a great deal of inconvenience to hide them. He was singularly unselfish and true. Had the most downright integrity of soul; could scarcely bear to be in the presence of a person whose character he disliked. Was perfectly independent of the opinions of others, and at the same time gratified with any true appreciation of himself. He did not go to church, because he could not hear any thing that pleased or benefited him. He was truly progressive. sons grew up to his level, but never got beyond him."

His

In personal appearance Augustus was part father and part mother. But on the spiritual side he was in most respects his father over again. He was like him in his love of fun, and many a good joke did they crack between them. He was like him in his independence, and in his sturdy and perpetual discountenance of all meanness and wrong.

He was a wild, wayward boy, full to overflowing with life and energy, mischievous, and saturated with fun and frolic, much given as in later years to imitation and mimicry, for which he had great natural talent. This talent, of course, made him many friends. But it must also have made him enemies. Then he regretted bitterly his use of

it.

He could bear enmity when it was drawn down upon him by any righteous indignation on his part, but not when it was the result of his thoughtlessness and folly. He was not useful or industrious as a boy, though he could work well on great occasions, but had a talent for shirking work and making plausible excuses. But his idleness was Horace's strenua inertia, earnest idleness. He might shirk the task imposed on him by others, but he was always pursuing some plan or idea of his own. He had an intense love of out-door life, and lived among the woods and hills a pensive, brooding sort of life, in strange contrast with the hilarity of his conduct with his fellows, and with much deeper joy. From every other sort of enjoyment except music, no matter how deeply he entered into it at the time, he would come away dissatisfied; but from his silent communings. with nature he arose refreshed and strengthened. But nature served him other purposes than this. He had a great interest in all kinds of machinery, and was quick to catch the essential principle of any new invention, and embody it in rough imitations. The banks of the little stream that runs by his early home used to be lined with his dams turning aside the water to test the power and skill of his various contrivances. Adverse to all stated tasks, appa· rently because he lacked the nervous energy necessary for long-continued physical exertion, he could yet do harder work than others of his age, run faster, climb higher, and perform many difficult and daring feats. The secret of all this was ambition to excel or win the praise of others. was, perhaps, too willing to attribute all the successes of his early life to the spirit of rivalry and the love of commendation. As he grew older he affirmed that but for his ambition he should have thrown himself away. But his deep

He