in a confidential tone, Why, I don't care if I do tell
you, for the market is glutted, and I shall quit this
circuit. It is done by a knowledge of SOFT SAWDER and
HUMAN NATUR. But here is Deacon Flint's, said he, I have
but one clock left, and I guess I will sell it to him.
At the gate of a most comfortable looking farm house
stood Deacon Flint, a respectable old man, who had
understood the value of time better than most of his
neighbours, if one might judge from the appearance of
every thing about him. After the usual salutation, an
invitation to "alight" was accepted by Mr. Slick, who
said, he wished to take leave of Mrs. Flint before he
left Colchester. We had hardly entered the house, before
the Clockmaker pointed to the view from the window, and,
addressing himself to me, said, if I was to tell them in
Connecticut, there was such a farm as this away down east
here in Nova Scotia, they would'nt believe me--why there
aint such a location in all New England. The deacon has
a hundred acres of dyke--seventy, said the deacon, only
seventy. Well, seventy; but then there is your fine deep
bottom, why I could run a ramrod into it--Interval, we
call it, said the Deacon, who, though evidently pleased
at this eulogium, seemed to wish the experiment of the
ramrod to be tried in the right place--well interval if
you please, (though Professor Eleazer Cumstick, in his
work on Ohio, calls them bottoms,) is just as good as
dyke. Then there is that water privilege, worth 3 or
$4,000, twice as good as what Governor Cass paid $15,000
for. I wonder, Deacon, you don't put up a carding mill
on it: the same works would carry a turning lathe, a