A Feeling for Salem

This old town of sale, my native place, though i have dwelt much away from it, both in boyhood and maturer years, possesses, or did possess, a hold on my affections. The sentiment is probably assignable to the deep and aged roots which my family has struck to the soil. It would be quite as reasonable to form a sentimental attachment to a disarranged chequer board. And yet, though invariably happiest elsewhere, there is within me a feeling for old salem that i must be content to call affection. Few of my countrymen can know what it is, nor as frequent transplantation is perhaps better for the stock need, they consider it desirable to