the square, things had a strangely familiar look.
There are so many things in old-fashioned New England villages that look alike.
It reminded me of certain New Hampshire villages with which I was familiar, the type, I have since found, of nine out of ten of those anciently planted in New England, the main feature consisting of two broad streets crossing each other at right angles, the interset that time it was occupied—the lower half, at least—by a Mr. Peak, whose family later toured New England as the Bell Ringers.
Mr. Peak was a skilful barber, as well as a hustling periodical deale-sleeves, where ox-teams were as common as horses, and where you heard a good deal of the old New England dialect spoken.
It was a quiet, restful place, withal, excepting in the ship-yards.
All thethink there were a dozen families of foreign parentage in town.
The inhabitants were of pure New England stock, whose blood ran from old English sources.
Go through the records of the names of the