it a sin to partake of any liquor, however prudently, it was then never heard in the land.  On the whole, the clergy of all denominations might be set down as brandy-and-water men, a few occasionally carrying out their principle to exaggeration.  But the Rev. Mr. Whittle was a sober man, and, though he saw no great harm in enlivening his heart and cheering his spirits with brandy taken in small quantities, he was never known to be any the worse for his libations.  It was the same with the deacon, though he drank rum-and-water of choice; and no other beverage, Mary’s currant-wine and cider excepted, was ever seen on his table.

One thing may be said of liquor, whether it be in its favour or not; it usually brings out all there is of the facetious in a man, rendering him conversable and pleasant; for the time being, at least.  This was apt to be peculiarly the case with the Rev. Mr. Whittle and his deacons.  In their ordinary intercourse with their fellow-creatures, these good people had taken up the idea that, in order to be religious, their countenances must be sombre, and that care and anxiety should be stamped on their faces, just as if they had no confidence in the efficacy of the redemption.  Few, indeed, are they who vindicate their professions by living at peace with God and man!  At Oyster Pond, it was much the fashion to imagine that the more a person became impressed with the truths of his, and articularly with those of her, lost condition, the more it became the party to be cynical, and to pry into, and comment, on the backslidings of the entire community.  This weakness, however, was characteristic of neither the pastor nor the deacon, each of whom regarded his professions too much in the light of a regular “business transaction,” to descend into these little abuses.  As for Mary, good creature, her humility was so profound as to cause her to believe herself among the weakest and least favoured of all who belonged to meeting.

“I was sorry that my late journey into Connecticut prevented my seeing the poor man who was so suddenly taken away from the house of Widow White,” observed the Rev. Mr. Whittle, some little time after he had made his original attack on the sheepshead.  “They tell me it was a hopeless case from the first?”

“So Dr. Sage considered it,” answered the deacon.  “Captain Gar’ner volunteered to go across for the doctor in my boat—­” with a heavy emphasis on the possessive pronoun—­“and we had him to look at the patient.  But, if the salt-water be good for consumptive people, as some pretend, I think there is generally little hope for seamen whose lungs once give way.”

“The poor man was a mariner, was he?  I did not know his calling, but had rather got the impression that he was a husbandman.  Did he belong to Oyster Pond?”

“No; we have none of the name of Daggett here, which is a tribe on the Vineyard.  Most of the Daggetts are seafaring folks (folk, Anglice) and this man was one of that class, I believe; though I know nothing of him, or of his pursuits, except by a word, here and there, dropped in discourse.”