haps, nor so white as that of the baker's, but much sweeter, and more nourishing. Our farmers' wives often use a little potato or Indian meal with their wheat, which gives the bread additional sweetness and body, as the gourmets call it, in speaking of their wines. With such strawberries and cream, such bread and butter, we could not do justice to half the good things on table. The cup-cake and ginger-bread, the biscuits and cheese, the various kinds of sweetmeats and stewed apples, the broiled ham and pickles, the apple-pie and mince-pie, were thrown away upon us. Our hostess put the nicest bits on a whole row of little plates and saucers before each guest, and after a long drive, one can make a very substantial meal; still, we could not eat up all the good things, and our friend was scarcely satisfied with the result, although we flattered ourselves we had been doing wonders. But such strawberries and cream, such bread and butter, ought to be enough to satisfy any reasonable tea-drinker.
As we had a drive of several miles before us, we were obliged to say good-bye early in the afternoon, taking leave of our venerable friend with those feelings of unfeigned regard and respect which the good and upright alone excite.
After such a pleasant day, we had a charming drive home, including even the long and slow ascent of Briar Hill. The birds, perched on the rails and bushes, sung us cheerfully on our way. As we stopped at the tavern, at the little hamlet of Old Oaks, to water the horses, we found a long row of empty wagons and buggies, drawn up before the house, betokening a rustic merry-making in honor of the eve of the “Fourth.” A fiddle was heard from an upper room, and we had scarcely stopped before a couple of youths, in holyday attire, stepped to the carriage, offering to help
