New England presents probably the only example of a successful commonwealth founded on a theory, as a distinct experiment in the problem of society.  It was for this reason that the minds of its great thinkers dwelt so much on the final solution of that problem in this world.  The fact of a future Millennium was a favorite doctrine of the great leading theologians of New England, and Dr. H. dwelt upon it with a peculiar partiality.  Indeed, it was the solace and refuge of his soul, when oppressed with the discouragements which always attend things actual, to dwell upon and draw out in detail the splendors of this perfect future which was destined to glorify the world.

Nobody, therefore, at the cottage was in the least surprised when there dropped into the flow of their daily life these sparkling bits of ore, which their friend had dug in his explorations of a future Canaan,—­in fact, they served to raise the hackneyed present out of the level of mere commonplace.

“But how will it be possible,” inquired Mrs. Scudder, “that so much less work will suffice in those days to do all that is to be done?”

“Because of the great advance of arts and sciences which will take place before those days,” said the Doctor, “whereby everything shall be performed with so much greater ease,—­also the great increase of disinterested love, whereby the skill and talents of those who have much shall make up for the weakness of those who have less.

“Yes,” he continued, after a pause,—­“all the careful Marthas in those days will have no excuse for not sitting at the feet of Jesus; there will be no cumbering with much serving; the Church will have only Maries in those days.”

This remark, made without the slightest personal intention, called a curious smile into Mrs. Scudder’s face, which was reflected in a slight blush from Mary’s, when the crack of a whip and the rattling of wagon-wheels disturbed the conversation and drew all eyes to the door.

There appeared the vision of Mr. Zebedee Marvyn’s farm-wagon, stored with barrels, boxes, and baskets, over which Candace sat throned triumphant, her black face and yellow-striped turban glowing in the fresh morning with a hearty, joyous light, as she pulled up the reins, and shouted to the horse to stop with a voice that might have done credit to any man living.

“Dear me, if there isn’t Candace!” said Mary.

“Queen of Ethiopia,” said the Doctor, who sometimes adventured a very placid joke.

The Doctor was universally known in all the neighborhood as a sort of friend and patron-saint of the negro race; he had devoted himself to their interests with a zeal unusual in those days.  His church numbered more of them than any in Newport; and his hours of leisure from study were often spent in lowliest visitations among them, hearing their stories, consoling their sorrows, advising, and directing their plans, teaching them reading and writing, and he often drew hard on his slender salary to assist them in their emergencies and distresses.