of themselves, from the child with its doll of rags to the great painter and poet who deal with the divine essence of things; and whether we will it or no, we are led little by little from the obvious usefulness of the tree to some sense of its beauty and its greater uses in showing the unchanging law of which it is an ever-changing material expression. The artist regards the avenue of locusts stretching along either side of yonder road, against the morning sky, as "values" of dark, as "quantities" of color and form; and the farmer, who has always looked upon them as most excellent material for posts, now sees them invested with another function. Even the rank weeds which are mowed down and cast into the fire assume somewhat of the dignity of usefulness by being made to serve as "values" in foregrounds, and carefully drawn for future uses in purposes of decoration. Our farm folk here, however, are not of the extreme utilitarian class. They are, indeed, an enlightened people, who, if incapable of appreciating classical music, for example, know at the same time that it must be their own rather than any fault of the music. They know there are things which they do not know, and that, having eyes, still do not see: a state of mind to which 'twere well some persons of "culture" should arrive -persons who, seeing little in nature, make the limitations of their own visions nature's limitations, and resent as personal insults such art as gives form to things their self-consciousness has hindered them from seeing. "Have not we eyes?" they exclaim; "and would this artist fellow have us think his picture like nature?" What is the need of art and artists, O man of "culture," if not to show you that there is more in nature than you may see without these helps? "I fear, friend John," said an honest old Quaker to our host, "that if this farm were mine, I would do but little work. I would stop too often to look at the beauty of the Sound." And surely this, from one of a persuasion popularly thought to believe all things on earth should be drab, was well enough. Still, the Quakers here about Harrison - and they are mostly Quakers-get much of the good that life will yield, and fall heir to less of its sorrows than most people, which comes possibly from the fact that they are little given to indulgence of their passions. They are a self-respecting, humane, and gentle people, singularly free from prejudices of any kind, and all the evidences of pure and upright lives are written see at once the value of the dress, its breadth and simplicity; and certainly there is, in the more distinctively literary sense, a wonderful charm about these people-the charm of utter simplicity of char plainly enough upon their calm, repose- They seem not to bother themselves concerning the past or future; they live, indeed, in the present, knowing little of local traditions, in which one would suppose so old a neighborhood would be rich-which it is, indeed; but these traditions have been preserved by others than the practical Friends, and are to be gathered elsewhere than in the immediate neighborhood of Harrison. In almost any other place, or amongst people of another faith, one would find lingering about every old landmark some of the traditions THE OLD BOSTON POST-ROAD. at the wardrobe of Mr. Samuel Hoit, of Rye, as it was recorded in 1684: "One pair of serge trowsers, one pair of linen trowsers; one ould serge coat, lined, and one kersye coat." This wardrobe of Mr. Hoit's would no doubt have been considered in those days quite complete, if not elaborate. "In 1704 the post was carried by a messenger provided with a spare horse, a horn, and good portmantles, and the only post on all this continent was that which went east from New York so far as Boston, and west to Philadelphia." Our illustration represents an era of greater splendor. thing about in a restful calm. Even the hum of bees, as on lazy wing they flew from flower to flower, seemed softer and slower than usual, and the chirping birds to sing in lower tones. A day of rest, indeed; and to lie under the shade of the gnarled old apple-tree, listening to the soft Here, also, is a suggestive bit from the winds moving gently through its leaves, New York Mercury, October 27, 1760: and watching the sun and shadow shift" Died at Stratford, of a fever, Deacon over the face of the old building, was a pleasure having in it an element other than of mere pagan sensuousness, let us hope. It was not work the artist did in catching that little bit of Sunday's holy calm to go along with his more earthy things. The little town of Rye has its historian in the person of the Rev. Dr. Baird, pastor of the Presbyterian church there, who for many years employed his leisure in collecting facts, and compiling his remarkably thorough and interesting history of a town which was of no little importance in the early days before and during the Revolution. Nothing can afford one a more vivid idea of these early times than such bits of local records as occur now and again in Dr. Baird's book. They have all the realism of photographs, and are of great value alike to the historian and novelist. For example, let us look Thomas Peet, in the sixty-second year of his age. He was employed as a post-rider between New York and Saybrook for the last thirty-two years of his life, in which station he gave general satisfaction." There was a noted tavern in Rye, still standing, and now known as the Penfield House, kept as early as 1770 by Dr. Ebenezer Haviland, who, by-the-way, was one of the first of the not numerous citizens of Rye who embraced the cause of the Colonies; and he died in the service of his country during the war. Amongst the most curious things recorded of this tavern, in the records of the Board of Supervisors, occurs the following: "To Doct. Ebenezar Haveland, for dining the Supervizors and liqure, £1 11s. 4d." Not very expensive supervisors possibly, although there is no mention made as to how many dined on that occasion, but still showing the custom of official dining and liquor ing at the public cost to be of respectable the great lumbering coach, with panting ing horse neck, six miles distant from Rye, | seph Norton, was no doubt one of the most the road through which is hilly and immensely stony, and trying to wheels and carriages, we breakfasted at Stamford, which is six miles further, at one Webb's -a tolerable good house, but not equal in appearance and reality to Mrs. Haviland's." "Half a century ago," writes Dr. Baird, "the old square house on the post-road at Rye was the centre of life and intelligence for the whole neighborhood; such it had been for at least as many years. Old inhabitants still speak of the time when interesting, as it certainly was the most picturesque, feature of the time of which we have record. This small community in the midst of a wilderness inhabited by savages, with no settlement of white men nearer than Greenwich, had to look well to its means of defense, and the "Trayne Band" is described as consisting of all male persons between the ages of sixteen and sixty years. "The men were armed with pikes, muskets, and swords. The muskets had matchlocks or firelocks, and to each there was a pair of 'bandoleers,' or pouch PETRUS STUYVESANT, LAST GOVERNOR OF NEW AMSTERDAM. es for bullets and powder, and a stick for a rest." The pikes were poles with spears on the end, and were fourteen feet long. "Courslets were worn with coats quilted with cotton, and there was no uniformity of dress." On the training-days persons who had been guilty of offenses against the law were exposed in the stocks, and we may imagine how severe a punishment it was to those whose sensitiveness had not entirely escaped them through repeated offenses to be thus exposed in the face of all the people who had gathered to witness the evolutions of their brave citizen soldiery. It was as motley a company, possibly, as Sir John Falstaff's ragged followers could have made, but a different one withal. Each and every member of this "Trayne Band" of Rye felt, no doubt, that the safety of the community rested upon his shoulders, and carried himself, in consequence, with all becoming dignity. Brave and sturdy men they were, and pious, without being fanatical, as were their neighbors and relatives just over in Greenwich. There is no such thing recorded in the annals of Rye as the burning of a witch, or even the cropping of the ears of a Quaker. For nearly two hundred years the sturdy members of Joseph Norton's "Trayne Band" have been gathered to their fathers; the forest from which they laboriously won some little land has faded away before their descendants, and with it have gone the vague terrors with which it was invested. The tedious and perilous journey along the Westchester path to New York is now but an hour's pleasant ride, and Rye Pond, remote enough from the little settlement then, will possibly soon be turned into a source of water supply for the city. About 1744, Peter Jay, a prosperous merchant, having retired from business in the prime of life, looking for some quiet place to pass his remaining days in ease, purchased a large estate in Rye, and settled his family there, while his son John-who was to become an illustrious personage in the early history of the republic-was still a child. Here the future Chief Justice passed a part of his youth. going from home to a school, and to King's College in New York when he was fourteen years of age. The estate at Bedford, where the present John Jay resides, passed into the possession of the Jays through the marriage of Mr. Peter Jay into the family of the Van Cortlandts, and afterward became the residence of Governor Jay. Dr. Jay, a grandson of the Governor, now lives on the estate at Rye-a beautiful place, with green meadows sloping from the back of the mansion down to the broad waters of the Sound. The "ha-ha" fences, being sunken stone walls, offer no impediment to the view, and only a stately elm here and there breaks the smooth sweep of |