A few miles below we entered the village of Walpole, pleasantly situated on the knolls to the east of the meadows which border the river.  Walpole was once a place of some literary note, as the residence of Dennie, who, forty years since, or more, before he became the editor of the Port Folio, here published the Farmer’s Museum, a weekly sheet, the literary department of which was amply and entertainingly filled.

Keene, which ended our journey in the stage-coach, is a flourishing village on the rich meadows of the Ashuelot, with hills at a moderate distance swelling upward on all sides.  It is a village after the New England pattern, and a beautiful specimen of its kind—­broad streets planted with rock-maples and elms, neat white houses, white palings, and shrubs in the front inclosures.

During this visit to New Hampshire, I found myself in a hilly and rocky region, to the east of this place, and in sight of the summit of Monadnock, which, at no great distance from where I was, begins to upheave its huge dark mass above the surrounding country.  I arrived, late in the evening, at a dwelling, the door of which was opened to me by two damsels, all health and smiles.  In the morning I saw a third sister of the same florid bloom and healthful proportions.  They were none of those slight, frail figures, copies of the monthly plates of fashion, with waists of artificial slenderness, which almost force you to wonder how the different parts of the body are kept together—­no pallid faces, nor narrow chests, nor lean hands, but forms which might have satisfied an ancient statuary, with a well-formed bust, faces glowing with health, rounded arms, and plump fingers.  They are such women, in short, as our mothers, fifty years ago, might have been.  I had not observed any particular appearance of health in the females of the country through which I had passed; on the contrary, I had been disappointed in their general pallidness and look of debility.  I inquired of my host if there was any cause to which this difference could be traced.

“I have no doubt of the cause,” replied he.  “These girls are healthy, because I have avoided three great errors.  They have neither been brought up on unwholesome diet, nor subjected to unwholesome modes of dress, nor kept from daily exercise in the open air.  They have never drunk tea or coffee, nor lived upon any other than plain and simple food.  Their dress—­you know that even the pressure of the easiest costume impedes the play of the lungs somewhat—­their dress has never been so tight as to hinder free respiration and the proper expansion of the chest.  Finally, they have taken exercise every day in the open air, assisting me in tending my fruit trees and in those other rural occupations in which their sex may best take part.  Their parents have never enjoyed very good health; nor were the children particularly robust in their infancy, yet by a rational physical education, they have been made such as you see them.”