The Reverend Samuel Nowell strode up the slopin~<br >that led to the home of his father-in-law. Behind him 1<br >village of Charlestown. At the top of the hill， Nowell<br >and looked back. The village could only vaguely be see<br >in the glare of the afternoon sun as it struck the war<br >Back Bay. Across the strait that connected the bay aI<br >harbor， the triple hills and the church steeples of the to<br >Boston could be seen more clearly.<br > Both Boston and Charlestown were exactly one hu<br >years old that year. But the Boston of the third decade<br >eighteenth century had become a town of fine houses，<br >drawn carriages， and ladies and gentlemen dressed in c<br >of the latest cut and wearing wigs of the latest style. It<br >far cry from the Puritan community founded by re<br >from Anglican persecution. Charlestown， on the other<br >had remained closer to its roots. Its streets were still<br >packed dirt that was dusty in summer and muddy in<br >One could still find pigs foraging loose in Charlestown s<br >No swine snorted its way through the better streets of B<br >Had one tried， constables would have shooed it off.<br >poor sections of Boston the north end along the<br >front--a loose pig would have been basted over hot<br >with little concern for the fights of the owner.<br > NoweU knew that he might never see Charlestown<br >He had just completed his last Sunday afternoon lectl<br >assistant to Pastor Byles. Tomorrow he would leave Ct<br >town and take his family west to his own church. Tom<br >he would leave the place where he had spent his enth<br >except for the six years at Harvard， leave the place wh<br >was born， where he had married Sarah Breed， and<br >their children were born. Thinking of Richard， his first<br >brought a pained expression to Nowell s face. <br ><br >