Had Major Roger Potter been as well qualified to take advantage of a political necessity, as the cunning quality of his gallantry in this instance fully testified, he was to get the better in a matter of trade, he had never fallen from so high an estate as that of defending the nation’s honor to that of selling tin ware and shoe pegs.

The major, saying he had an inert sympathy for the humble, and that nothing had so much pleased him as to do Mrs. Trotbridge service, now commenced to set her table, which he did with the familiarity of a good housewife, while the anxious woman bestirred herself in preparing dinner, expressing her doubts as she did so, that her efforts would not meet our expectations.  Suddenly remembering that I was so great a politician, the good woman, having made sundry inquiries concerning my wants, bethought herself that I would like a book to while away the time; so, leaving her stew pan in charge of the Major, who, having set the table with great exactness, was seated upon a small stool at the fireside, beating the doughnut batter in a bowl on his lap, she proceeded to a small book-rack over a window, and brought me a copy of Elder Boomer’s last sermons, the reading of which she was fully assured in her own mind would interest me.

The major interposed (wiping his portentous belly, which had become disfigured with batter,) by saying that seeing the book advertised by the publishers (who were men of truth in all matters concerning their trade) as the greatest of recently published works, he got a copy for Mrs. Potter, who declared it a wonderful book, and had lent it to all the neighbors, who had read it until nothing would do but they must get up a religious revival.  Indeed, if things kept on as they were going, there would soon not be a sinner left in the region round about Barnstable, such a change had the book worked in the pious feelings of the good people.  I seated myself beside a window that overlooked the little garden, and turned over the leaves of the book, affecting to be deeply interested in it, but really listening to an interesting colloquy that was being kept up between the good woman and the major, at whose side several little flaxen headed urchins had crouched down, and with an air of paternal regard, watched intently in his face as he compounded the batter with so much force and energy, that at least one half it was lost in spatters over their features.  And while doing this, so eager was the major to ascertain the exact state of Mrs. Trotbridge’s affairs, that the increase of her pigs and poultry formed a prominent feature in his inquiries.  She had let her little farm of thirty acres out on shares to neighbor Zack Slocum, who was esteemed the best crop-getter this side of the crossroads.  The peach trees, of which she had seven ranged along the little picket fence round the garden, gave no very strong evidence of doing much, while the cherry tree over the well was touched with blight; but for