Shortly after the hour of noon, on a certain summer day which will long be remembered in this locality because of its excessive heat, a young and sprightly farmer chanced to visit the village. His entrance seemed to be regarded as an event somewhat remarkable, for so dull was the season that no strange face had been seen by the villagers for several weeks. Upon arriving at the tavern, having been curiously stared at by the occupants of every building he had passed, he encountered Peter, who immediately entered into heterogeneous conversation, if that can be called conversation in which the talking is all on one side. I will here venture the opinion, though cautiously, that it may, for custom seems to have so decreed, and with few things has custom had more to do. Having invented no new word fully adequate to the occasion, and sufficiently expressive, we are led to submit to its long continued acquiescence in the one now employed. Then, too, excellent talkers could never consent to change this form of expression for any other less creditable to themselves, and the good listener may find sufficient to reconcile himself to it in the remark of old Simonides, who declared that he had frequently repented of having said too much, but never of having remained silent. Notwithstanding the apparent determination to exclude the possibility of a stray word from the new comer, Peter’s conduct had something of novelty in it to the stranger which at once induced him patiently to listen. Of course, this attention was highly pleasing to the talker, for several weeks had been a very long period for him to remain, on account of the dullness of the season, in that silence to which the villagers had doomed him by common consent, under the impression that time spent with him was unprofitably and irretrievably cast away. When, therefore, he was invited by the young man to a seat in his conveyance, Peter had no hesitancy in accepting, and not until they had left the village several miles behind, did he ascertain that the stranger had no intention of returning to it again. He now first bethought himself of the ridiculous blunder he had made in not having informed himself of this fact before. In this sad plight, very sad indeed to him, he slowly dismounted from the vehicle, and commenced pondering upon the best means to get back again to the tavern he had so incautiously left at the bidding of the stranger. To walk so great a distance he would at any time have looked upon as an exceedingly laborious task, but in the awful heat of that day the idea was too terrible to be entertained. At length he concluded to trust to his luck, which had sometimes favored him, although he had frequently complained of its hard decrees, thinking that chance might perhaps send some conveyance that way, through which he could return to the village. I should be greatly gratified to be able to say, that in Peter Easy I had found the man who never lamented over