[1833.]
I know not, I ask not, what guilt's in thy heart, But I feel
that I love thee, whatever thou art.
Moor.
THE township of Haverhill, on the Merrimac, contained, in the autumn of
1641, the second year of its settlement, but six dwelling-houses,
situated near each other, on the site of the present village. They were
hastily constructed of rude logs, small and inconvenient, but one remove
from the habitations of the native dwellers of the wilderness. Around
each a small opening had been made through the thick forest, down to the
margin of the river, where, amidst the charred and frequent stumps and
fragments of fallen trees, the first attempts at cultivation had been
made. A few small patches of Indian corn, which had now nearly reached
maturity, exhibited their thick ears and tasselled stalks, bleached by
the frost and sunshine; and, here and there a spot of yellow stubble,
still lingering among the rough incumbrances of the soil, told where a
scanty crop of common English grain had been recently gathered. Traces
of some of the earlier vegetables were perceptible, the melon, the pea,
and the bean. The pumpkin lay ripening on its frosted vines, its sunny
side already changed to a bright golden color; and the turnip spread out
its green mat of leaves in defiance of the season.
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