It is amusing once in a while to look on as the different customers come and go. Some people like shopping in a large town, where all sorts of pretty novelties are spread out on the counters to tempt purchasers; but there is much more real interest connected with such matters in a large country store, whatever fine ladies tossing about laces and gauzes at Beck's or Stewart's may fancy. The country people come into the village not to shop, but to trade; their purchases are all a matter of positive importance to them, they are all made with due forethought and deliberation. Most Saturdays of the year one meets farm-wagons, or lumber-sleighs, according to the season, coming into the village, filled with family parties—and it may be a friend or two besides—two and three seats crowded with grown people, and often several merry-faced little ones sitting in the straw. They generally make a day of it, the men having, perhaps, some business to look after, the women some friends to hunt up, besides purchases to be made and their own produce to be disposed of, for they commonly bring with them something of this kind; eggs or butter, maple-sugar or molasses, feathers, yarn, or homespun cloths and flannels. At an early hour on pleasant Saturdays, summer or winter, the principal street shows many such customers, being lined with their wagons or sleighs; in fact, it is a sort of market-day. It is pleasing to see these family parties making their purchases. Sometimes it is a mother exchanging the fruits of her own labors for a gay print to make frocks for the eager, earnest-looking little girls by her side; often the husband stands by holding a baby—one always likes to see a man carrying the baby—it is a kind act—while the wife makes her choice of teacups or brooms; now we have two female friends, country neighbors,
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