MAJOR ROGER SHERMAN POTTER lived in a little red house in the outskirts of the town of Barnstable. There were two crabbed little windows in front, for it could boast of but one story, and a narrow green door, over which a prairie rose bush clustered, as if to hide its infirmity. A small window, reminding one of a half closed jacknife, and in which were two earthen flower pots containing mignonnette, set jauntily upon the roof, which was so covered with black moss, that it was impossible to tell whether it was shingled or tiled. Indeed such was the shattered condition of the little tenement, that you might easily have imagined it suffering from a forty years' attack of chronic disease, and quite unfit for the habitation of so great a military hero. The major, however, had a peculiar faculty for reconciling humbleness with greatness, and always overcame the remonstrances of his wife, (who was continually urging the necessity of a larger tenement, in accordance with their advanced popularity,) by reminding her that General Scott, who was a great military hero, and to whom the nation owed a debt of gratitude it had no notion of discharging until after his death, was kept poor and humble by the nation, merely for its own convenience. In truth, whenever Polly Potter upbraided the major for not keeping up proper appearances, he would mutter so that her ears could not escape the meaning, that rags might cover a nobleman, while the knave might scent his fine linen with the perfumes of Arabia. In reply to this, Polly would remind him in her own way, that tattered garments and good society were not the fashion of the day, and seldom went together.

"Well, here I am, wife! in an unsuitable condition, I confess," said the major, stalking into his little habitation, and embracing his wife, who had been waiting his coming in great anxiety, seeing that old Battle had arrived nearly an hour previous, with the tin wagon in a very disordered condition. "Heavens! my faithful husband, my dear good husband, what has happened?" shrieked his wife, standing aghast for a moment, and then throwing herself almost fainting into his arms, as two shy looking and ill clad little girls, and a boy of some twelve years old, clung about her garments, and commenced to cry with all the might of their lungs. The major's wife was a slender, meekly attired woman, with exceedingly sharp features, a bright, watchful eye, evincing great energy of character, and a complexion which might be considered a compromise between the color of Dr. Townsend's sarsaparilla and the daintiest olive-induced, as the major afterwards told me, by bilious disorder.

The major was at a loss how to account to his wife for his shattered condition, nor was he conscious of the disordered state of his nether garments, the rent in which had been made larger by the process of getting him out of the pit. However, as her recovery was almost as sudden as her notion to faint, and seeing that nothing serious had resulted therefrom, he placed her in a chair, and commenced recounting to her how he got into the pit, which he swore, and made her believe, was set for him by his enemies, who had for many years bore him great malice, in consequence of his fame, which, God knows, he had worked hard enough to gain. "La's me, husband," said the artless woman, making him a return of her affections; "it's just what I've a dozen times told you they'd do, if they'd only a sly chance. There's Robins Dobson, who has been trying for years to be Major of the Invincibles, and it's just what his wife wants. She wants to see his name, with the title 'tached, in the Patriot some mornin'. Poor folks has a hard enough time to get up in the world, and when they gets up, everybody wants to pull 'em down. That's the way the world goes." As it had always been a custom with the good woman to believe no greater military character than the major ever lived-an opinion he shared to the fullest extent-so was it the most pleasing thing with him to reciprocate the honor by asserting, whenever an opportunity offered, that history afforded no example of a military hero ever before being blessed with so good a wife. Indeed I very much doubt whether there ever existed a heaven in which love, joy, and mutual confidence were so liberally exchanged as in this, the major's little tenement. As for furniture, it could boast of but little, and that of the shabbiest kind. It was true, there was a print of General Scott hung upon the discolored wall, and another of Zack Taylor, and another of General Pierce, mounted upon a ferocious-looking charger, and about to demonstrate his courage (not in attacking the lines of an enemy) by rushing into the thickest of a hailstorm. By these, especially the latter, Polly Potter set great store, inasmuch as they illustrated the major's taste for the profession of which he was so illustrious a member. I had almost forgotten to mention, while enumerating the portraits of these great generals, that there was hanging over the tea-table (as if to do penance for some grievous wrong committed against that venerable institutution) a picture of General Webb, who had distinguished himself in several great battles, fought in the columns of an almost pious newspaper, published in Wall Street, New York, and whom Polly Potter verily believed, having heard it of the neighbors, to be a wonderful diplomatist, which was rare in so great a general.

"And now, seeing that we have had but scanty fare for the week past, and have got deeply in debt to the grocer, who has twice threatened to take our little things for pay, pray tell us of your voyage, and what success you have met with;" said the good woman, which reminded the major of his neglect of his faithful horse, which, in reply to a question concerning his arrival, he was told had come safely home, and been put in the barn, but without either pig or chickens. The major was not a little surprised on hearing this account of his team, and repaired at once to the barn, where he found old Battle a little jaded, but otherwise in his usual good condition, and as ready as ever to acknowledge the caresses of his kind master. To his utter astonishment neither pig nor chickens, upon which he had set so much store, as constituting the larger half of his available profits, were to be seen. He now swore either that the town was full of thieves, or that it was another trick of his enemies to deprive him of the means of sustaining his hard-earned reputation. His wife now, evincing great grief at the sad misfortune, held the lantern while he counted his skins and tin ware, which he found to tally exactly with his account of stock, which he kept on a dingy slip of paper, with the exactness of a cotton broker. "Curse on these enemies of mine; they are all an evil minded set of blockheads!" ejaculated the major, pausing to consider a moment, and then heaving a sigh. "Husband, curse not your enemies," enjoined the confiding woman, "for the Scripture teacheth that we must pray for them; and you know we have much need of being exalted above them."

"I leave what the Sc............