Thinks I, here’s a pretty how do you do; I’m in for it now, that’s a fact; he’ll jist fall to and read a regular sarmon, and he knows so many by heart hell never stop.  It would take a Philadelphia lawyer to answer him.  So, says I, minister, I ax your pardon, I feel very ugly at havin given you offence, but I did’nt mean it, I do assure you.  It jist popt out unexpectedly, like a cork out of one of them are cider bottles, I’ll do my possibles that the like don’t happen agin, you may depend; so ’spose we drink a glass to our reconciliation.  That I will, said he and we will have another bottle too, but I must put a little water into my glass, (and he dwelt on that word, and looked at me, quite feelin, as much as to say, don’t for goodness sake make use of that are word horn agin, for it’s a joke I don’t like,) for my head hante quite the strength my cider has.  Taste this, Sam, said he, (openin of another bottle,) it’s of the same age as the last, but made of different apples, and I am fairly stumped sometimes to say which is best.

These are the pleasures, says he, of a country life.  A man’s own labor provides him with food, and an appetite to enjoy it.  Let him look which way he will, and he sees the goodness and bounty of his Creator, his wisdom, his power, and his majesty.  There never was any thing so true, as that are old sayin, “man made the town, but God made the country,” and both bespeak their different architects in terms too plain to be misunderstood.  The one is filled with virtue and the other with vice.  One is the abode of plenty, and the other of want; one is a ware-duck of nice pure water—­and tother one a cess-pool.  Our towns are gettin so commercial and factoring, that they will soon generate mobs, Sam, (how true that are has turned out, haint it? he could see near about as far into a mill-stone, as them that picks the hole into it,) and mobs will introduce disobedience and defiance to laws, and that must eend in anarchy and bloodshed.  No, said the old man, raising his voice, and giving the table a wipe with his fist that made the glasses all jingle agin, give me the country; that country to which he that made it said, “Bring forth grass, the herb yield in seed, and the tree yieldin fruit,” And who saw that it was good.  Let me jine with the feathered tribe in the mornin, (I hope you get up airly now, Sam; when you was a boy there was no gitten you out of bed at no rate,) and at sunset, in the hymns which they utter in full tide of song to their Creator.  Let me pour out the thankfulness of my heart to the Giver of all good things, for the numerous blessings I enjoy, and intreat him to bless my increase, that I may have wherewithal to relieve the wants of others, as he prevents and relieves mine.  No! give me the country.  Its —–­ Minister was jist like a horse that has the spavin:  he sot off considerable stiff at first, but when he once got under way, he got on like a house a fire.  He went like the wind, full split.