“A perilous time it must have been for you, neighbour.  But I don’t remember to have heard of more than two quarrels with the Frenchmen in my day.”

“You are but a boy, compared to one who has seen the end of his third score of years.  Here is this war that is now so likely to be soon ended—­Heaven, which rules all things in wisdom, be praised for the same!  Then there was the business of ’45, when the bold Warren sailed up and down our coasts; a scourge to his Majesty’s enemies, and a safeguard to all the loyal subjects.  Then, there was a business in Garmany, concerning which we had awful accounts of battles fou’t, in which men were mowed down like grass falling before the scythe of a strong arm.  That makes three.  The fourth was the rebellion of ’15, of which I pretend not to have seen much, being but a youth at the time; and the fifth was a dreadful rumour, that was spread through the provinces, of a general rising among the blacks and Indians, which was to sweep all us Christians into eternity at a minute’s warning!”

“Well, I had always reckoned you for a home-staying and a peaceable man, neighbour;” returned the admiring countryman; “nor did I ever dream that you had seen such serious movings.”

“I have not boasted, Pardon, or I might have added other heavy matters to the list.  There was a great struggle in the East, no longer than the year ’32, for the Persian throne.  You have read of the laws of the Medes and the Persians:  Well, for the very throne that gave forth those unalterable laws was there a frightful struggle, in which blood ran like water; but, as it was not in Christendom, I do not account it among my own experiences; though I might have spoken of the Porteous mob with great reason, as it took place in another portion of the very kingdom in which I lived.”

“You must have journeyed much, and been stirring late and early, good-man, to have seen all these things, and to have got no harm.”

“Yes, yes, I’ve been something of a traveller too, Pardy.  Twice have I been over land to Boston, and once have I sailed through the Great Sound of Long Island, down to the town of York.  It is an awful undertaking the latter, as it respects the distance, and more especially because it is needful to pass a place that is likened, by its name, to the entrance of Tophet.”

“I have often heard the spot call’d ‘Hell Gate’ spoken of, and I may say, too, that I know a man well who has been through it twice; once in going to York, and once in coming homeward.”

“He had enough of it, as I’ll engage!  Did he tell you of the pot which tosses and roars as if the biggest of Beelzebub’s fires was burning beneath, and of the hog’s-back over which the water pitches, as it may tumble over the Great Falls of the West!  Owing to reasonable skill in our seamen, and uncommon resolution in the passengers, we happily made a good time of it, through ourselves; though I care not who knows it, I will own it is a