The mild May afternoon was drawing to a close, as Friend Eli Mitch-
enor reached the top of the long hill, and halted a few minutes, to allow his horse time to
recover breath. He also heaved a sigh of satisfaction, as he saw again the green,
undulating valley of the Neshaminy, with its dazzling squares of young wheat, its brown
patches of corn-land, its snowy masses of blooming orchard, and the huge, fountain like
jets of weeping willow, half concealing the gray stone fronts of the farm-houses. He had
been absent from home only six days, but the time seemed almost as long to him as a
three years' cruise to a New Bedford whaleman. The peaceful seclusion and pastoral
beauty of the scene did not consciously appeal to his senses; but he quietly noted how
much the wheat had grown during his absence, that the oats were up and looking well,
that Friend Comly's meadow had been ploughed, and Friend Martin had built his half of
the line-fence along the top of the hill-field. If any smothered delight in the loveliness of
the spring-time found a hiding-place anywhere in the well-ordered chambers of his heart,
it never relaxed or softened the straight, inflexible lines of his face. As easily could his
collarless drab coat and waistcoat have flushed with a sudden gleam of purple or crimson.
Eli Mitchenor was at peace with himself and the world--that is, so much of the world as
he acknowledged. Beyond the community of his own sect, and a few personal friends
who were privileged to live on its borders, he neither knew nor cared to know much more
of the human race than if it belonged to a planet farther from the sun. In the discipline of
the Friends he was perfect; he was privileged to sit on the high seats, with the elders of
the Society; and the travelling brethren from other States, who visited Bucks County,
invariably blessed his house with a family-meeting. His farm was one of the best on the
banks of the Neshaminy, and he also enjoyed the annual interest of a few thousand
dollars, carefully secured by mortgages on real estate. His wife, Abigail, kept even pace
with him in the consideration she enjoyed within the limits of the sect; and his two
children, Moses and Asenath, vindicated the paternal training by the strictest sobriety of
dress and conduct. Moses wore the plain coat, even when his ways led him among "the
world's people;" and Asenath had never been known to wear, or to express a desire for, a
ribbon of a brighter tint than brown or fawn-color. Friend Mitchenor had thus gradually
ripened to his sixtieth year in an atmosphere of life utterly placid and serene, and looked
forward with confidence to the final change, as a translation into a deeper calm, a serener
quiet, a prosperous eternity of mild voices, subdued colors, and suppressed emotions.
He was returning home, in his own old-fashioned "chair," with its heavy square canopy
and huge curved springs, from the Yearly Meeting of the Hicksite Friends, in
Philadelphia. The large bay farm-horse, slow and grave in his demeanor, wore his plain
harness with an air which made him seem, among his fellow-horses, the counterpart of
his master among men. He would no more have thought of kicking than the latter would
of swearing a huge oath. Even now, when the top of the hill was gained, and he knew that
