Some months ago, when visiting a friend in a distant part of the country, I accompanied her to stay a few days in the house of a resident clergyman, curate of a flourishing village in the township of ------.  I was struck by the primitive simplicity of the mansion and its inhabitants.  We were introduced into the little family sitting-room, the floor of which was painted after the Yankee fashion; instead of being carpeted, the walls were of unornamented deal, and the furniture of the room of corresponding plainness.  A large spinning-wheel, as big as a cart-wheel, nearly occupied the centre of the room, at which a neatly-dressed matron, of mild and lady-like appearance, was engaged spinning yarn; her little daughters were knitting beside the fire, while their father was engaged in the instruction of two of his sons; a third was seated affectionately in a little straw chair between his feet, while a fourth was plying his axe with nervous strokes in the court-yard, casting from time to time wistful glances through the parlour-window at the party within.

The dresses of the children were of a coarse sort of stuff, a mixture of woollen and thread, the produce of the farm and their mother’s praiseworthy industry.  The stockings, socks, muffatees, and warm comforters were all of home manufacture.  Both girls and boys wore mocassins, of their own making:  good sense, industry, and order presided among the members of this little household.

Both girls and boys seemed to act upon the principle, that nothing is disgraceful but that which is immoral and improper.

Hospitality without extravagance, kindness without insincerity of speech, marked the manners of our worthy friends.  Every thing in the house was conducted with attention to prudence and comfort.  The living was but small (the income arising from it, I should have said), but there was glebe land, and a small dwelling attached to it, and, by dint of active exertion without-doors, and economy and good management within, the family were maintained with respectability:  in short, we enjoyed during our sojourn many of the comforts of a cleared farm; poultry of every kind, beef of their own killing, excellent mutton and pork:  we had a variety of preserves at our tea-table, with honey in the comb, delicious butter, and good cheese, with divers sorts of cakes; a kind of little pancake, made from the flour of buck-wheat, which are made in a batter, and raised with barm, afterwards dropped into boiling lard, and fried; also a preparation made of Indian corn-flour, called supporne-cake, which is fried in slices, and eaten with maple-syrup, were among the novelties of our breakfast-fare.

I was admiring a breed of very fine fowls in the poultry-yard one morning, when my friend smiled and said, “I do not know if you will think I came honestly by them.”

“I am sure you did not acquire them by dishonest means,” I replied, laughing; “I will vouch for your principles in that respect.”