name from the number of oaks standing on its banks in former times; most of these have been felled years ago, and the river now runs among open fields, just beyond the factory, however, a few hoary old trunks are seen rising far above the younger trees and shrubs; but these are sycamores, and with their white bark and scanty branches, they look like lingering ghosts of the fallen forest. The banks of this stream are the only ground in the neighborhood, I believe, where sycamores are found, and there are but a few, scattered here and there, along its track.
The factory, a stone building of some size, with its usual neighbors, a mill and a store, make up a little hamlet, with a cluster of red wooden cottages, and a yellow house for the agent. A couple of thriving maples, good-sized trees, have been left standing in the open space crossed by the road, much to the credit of those who have spared them—“may their shadows never be less!” It is a pity that a few more were not scattered about with a bench or two in the shade; the spot would then make a neat hamlet green.
Some people think that public seats would not answer in our part of the world; it is said that if made of stone they would be cracked and broken; if made of wood chipped and defaced by the knives of the thoughtless men and boys of a country neighborhood. But surely it is time we began to learn a lesson of civilization in this respect; to put things to their proper uses is one of the first precepts of good sense and good manners. Benches were not made to be chipped, nor knives to mutilate and deface with. One would like an experiment of this kind to be fairly tried; if it failed, then it would be time enough to complain; and wherever it succeeds, it must be very creditable to the rural com-
