fellow-citizen in Suffolk had been made to feel how close was the gripe of his hand, when he found himself in its grasp; but there is a way of practising the most ruthless extortion, that serves not only to deceive the world, but which would really seem to mislead the extortioner himself.  Phrases take the place of deeds, sentiments those of facts, and grimaces those of benevolent looks, so ingeniously and so impudently, that the wronged often fancy that they are the victims of a severe dispensation of Providence, when the truth would have shown that they were simply robbed.

We do not mean, however, that Deacon Pratt was a robber.  He was merely a hard man in the management of his affairs; never cheating, in a direct sense, but seldom conceding a cent to generous impulses, or to the duties of kind.  He was a widower, and childless, circumstances that rendered his love of gain still less pardonable; for many a man who is indifferent to money on his own account, will toil and save to lay up hoards for those who are to come after him.  The deacon had only a niece to inherit his effects, unless he might choose to step beyond that degree of consanguinity, and bestow a portion of his means on cousins.  The church—­or, to be more literal, the ’meeting’—­had an eye on his resources, however; and it was whispered it had actually succeeded, by means known to itself, in squeezing out of his tight grasp no less a sum than one hundred dollars, as a donation to a certain theological college.  It was conjectured by some persons that this was only the beginning of a religious liberality, and that the excellent and godly-minded deacon would bestow most of his property in a similar way, when the moment should come that it could be no longer of any use to himself.  This opinion was much in favour with divers devout females of the deacon’s congregation, who had daughters of their own, and who seldom failed to conclude their observations on this interesting subject with some such remark as, “Well, in that case, and it seems to me that every thing points that way, Mary Pratt will get no more than any other poor man’s daughter.”

Little did Mary, the only child of Israel Pratt, an elder brother of the deacon, think of all this.  She had been left an orphan in her tenth year, both parents dying within a few months of each other, and had lived beneath her uncle’s roof for nearly ten more years, until use, and natural affection, and the customs of the country, had made her feel absolutely at home there.  A less interested, or less selfish being than Mary Pratt, never existed.  In this respect she was the very antipodes of her uncle, who often stealthily rebuked her for her charities and acts of neighbourly kindness, which he was wont to term waste.  But Mary kept the even tenor of her way, seemingly not hearing such remarks, and doing her duty quietly, and in all humility.