There in the corner is a clock. Its top nearly touches the rafters and its long pendulum with measured tick-tick-tick forces the hands around to the hour, when a doleful-sounding bell announces to the occupants of the room that "it is time to get up," ding-ding-ding, six times; or to "put lights out," and "for friends to depart," nine solemn strokes.

Its round face on which is painted with rude figures an ancient war scene looks down on the round dining-table, covered with a plain but snow

white cloth on which are several pewter and wooden plates and bowls. In the middle, away from all danger of being knocked off by some careless man, are a few china bowls decorated with quaint hunting scenes in blue.

There, under the protection of the clock as it were, are the spinning-wheel and the reel with the wool and flax waiting for the nimble fingers of

the dame on the morrow to resume her spinning. Near this is a small three-legged stool on which she sits while working.

A MAN'S DRESS.

Sh! There comes my lady, returning with her husband. He is dressed in a snuff-colored frock, short in front and very long behind, with large brass buttons on either side and a small cape covering his shoulders. The sleeves are frilled with lace.

His vest is made of linsey-woolsey; his short clothes are of the same material and are, like the frock, frilled at the bottom. His feet are covered with leather shoes of his own manufacture. His hair is done up in a queue and is profusely powdered so as to conceal its natural color, being fastened with an enormous bow. In his hand he carries his three-cornered hat.

To show his hospitality, and perhaps also to display his family pride, he takes us to the "best room."

THE BEST ROOM.

This room is seldom opened except on Sundays, or on cleaning days, when the housewife carefully dusts every article, washes the windows, and

scatters clean, white sand over the floor, marking queer figures in it with the broom.

Covering the walls, we see hanging the extra

clothing of the family on

on wooden pegs driven

between the logs

The fireplace is filled with evergreen,

renewed every week, while on the shelf

are seen a few books, carefully put away for Sunday reading.

Besides these there is a corner cupboard with glass doors, behind which are placed in regular order the china and silverware of the household. These are for show, rather than for use.

Returning to the kitchen, a little conversation ensues around the fireplace and between sips of fragrant tea. The husband is very eloquent on the subject of a new stage coach route between New York and Boston, a six-days journey.

He favors the plan of adding the title of city clerk to the already numerous titles of the school

teacher, who pounds the alphabet, a little arithmetic and spelling, and still less geography, into the heads of the poor boys for two or three months every winter. Schools are always built "under the very eaves of the churches."

The schoolmaster is boarded free among the inhabitants for the help he gives the boys with their lessons, the girls by holding their flax, and the older people by stories of his travels in the world. The girls attend school two months in the summer, when they are taught by a lady.

We are in the midst of a lively discussion as to whether newspapers are beneficial or not, when the clock in the corner strikes nine, and without further discourse we are led to the room above, where we are to pass the night. With a hearty well-wishing for our peaceful slumber, our host leaves us to our own thoughts.

A BEDROOM.

Not being so strict as to the nine o'clock regulation of "lights out," we may look around us a little at the contents of our chamber.

First, there is the bed,—a a high, four-post affair, keeping silent watch over the same painful order which was met with below. The heavy draperv of the bedstead is of blue and white linen. The

downy pillow and soft bolster are covered with the same pure white material.

By the side of the bed is a chest of drawers

is used as a wash-stand, the pitcher and bowl being of pewter. Hanging overhead is a double-plate looking-glass framed in scalloped wood. A few stiff-backed, white-pine chairs complete the furnishings of the room.

A low-gabled window, heavily leaded,- that is, the different pieces of glass being connected by lead, overlooks the unlighted street, where, at this very moment, the watchman with his lantern and heavy pike, dressed in a long, black gown and three-cornered hat, is calling "nine o'clock, and all's well!"

This is welcome news to the peacefully inclined people, for riots and street brawls are nightly

Occurrences.

The window is hung with blue damask. The door is fastened by a wooden latch on the inside.