nearly eight o'clock
Perchance there are heart-sore maidens in the village , who , to their sorrow , could give more particular information of the exploits of the seductive Aaron at this period , than I am able to . Such are the mountains and rivers , the streets and the houses of Stockbridge as the sun of this August morning in the year 1777 , discloses them to view . But where are the people ? It is seven , yes , nearly eight o'clock , and no human being is to be seen walking in the streets , or travelling in the roads , or working in the fields . Such lazy habits are certainly not what we have been wont to ascribe to our sturdy forefathers . Has the village , peradventure , been deserted by the population , through fear of the Hessian marauders , the threat of whose coming has long hung like a portentous cloud , over the Berkshire valley ? Not at all .