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42 Mrs. Lloyd and resumed her seat; quietly finishing her meal. Her husband, a ruddy, good-natured, hardy looking mountaineer, had had the misfortune, by some accident in his childhood, to lose the use of both his legs, which were now ingeniously folded into the same chair on which he sat. He turned to the coachman, who, having secured his horses, had just entered, and smiling at his consternation, said, "Why, friend, you look scare't, pretty pokerish weather, to be sure, but then we don't mind it up here;" then turning to the child next him, who, in gazing at the strangers, had dropped half the food she was conveying to her mouth, he said,—"Desdemony, don't scatter the 'tatoes so."—"But last week," he continued, resuming his address to the coachman, "there was the most tedious spell of weather I have seen sensince [sic] the week before last thanksgiving, when my wife and I went down into the lower part of Becket, to hear Deacon Hollister's funeral sarmont—Don't you remember, Tempy, that musical fellow that was there?—'I don't see,' says he, 'the use of the minister preaching up so much about hell-fire,' says he, 'it is a very good doctrine,' says he, 'to preach down on Connecticut River, but,' says he, 'I should not think it would frighten any body in such a cold place as Becket.'"

A bright flash, that seemed to fire the heavens, succeeded by a tremendous clap of thunder, which made the hovel tremble, terrified all the groupe, excepting the fearless speaker—

"A pretty smart flash to be sure; but, as I was