This township all unnoted for distinguished institutions of human invention, has nevertheless so fine a mountain landscape, it becomes self-evident in a physical point of view, Vermont could not have been finished without Bolton. The summer with its grass and foliage of lively green upon the steep hillsides, the autumn with its variegated colorings of the rich maples, beech, birch, cherry, ash, and dark spotting evergreens, hold out not in vain pictures of allurement to the tourist and pleasure-seeker. Contributors for leading periodicals sometimes linger here for weeks, writing and sketching the scenery. Some very fine views taken here may be found in the earlier numbers of the Harpers' Magazine. Winter is still the season for fox hunting, when almost daily the voice of the hounds echo musically among the hills as poor Reynard flies for refuge along the icy precipices into the caves or grottoes.





Soil. The lands in every part of the town produce in a manner that amply repays the labor of the skillful farmer. The sandy loam of the intervales, or the marl and clay of the hillsides are not surpassed in fertility by any in the state. The soil is scarcely ever much affected by dry seasons.

The rocks are principally clorite, and mica slate and quartz, the former containing the sulphuret of iron, and the sulphuret of copper. These rocks properly belong to the talcose slate formation, though generally more or less talcose, they vary considerably in their aspect and composition. There are also slight indications of the red sand rock formation, interstratified with talcose slate. We find them in some places schaly, very quartzose, and with very little talc or mica in their composition. Veins of granite running in a northern direction, pass through the town, the most remarkable of which may be traced from Huntington as far as Jericho, where a very fine block was hewn out as a monument, and placed in the grave yard at Jericho Centre, in memory of the Warner family. We find them mostly stratified rock, and in some places the beds, or strata, are a fine conglomerate, the rounded pebble being, for the most part quite minute. In some parts the rocks have a greenish and cloritic hue, and are so thick bedded, and compact as to make very good building stone, but this quality is comparatively small. We find parallel lines or furrows on the surface of the rocks in many places, running N. W. and S. E., supposed to indicate the direction of the ocean currents. In many places the strata is irregular, in thick beds, splitting with nearly equal facilty in all directions, and can be removed only with great difficulty and expense. Indications of the gold formation may be found in many parts of the town, and it is said that native gold has been obtained by washing, but in quantities too small for profitable working.




This town is situated midway between Burlington and Montpelier, the rail road station being about 20 miles from each. The inhabitants are mostly settled in the Winooski Valley, and a lumber district in the N. W. part of the town. There is a post office in each place, and about 700 inhabitants in all. A large tract lying in the N. E. part of the township is as yet unsettled. This is a part of a large tract of wilderness lying between Stimson's mountain and the town of Stowe. There is an equally large tract on the opposite side of the river, at the base of Camel's Hump. The two form a favorite retreat for the few bears that remain in Vermont. The Joyner brook which is in the N. E. part of the township, drains a broad valley of about four miles in length, emptying into the Winooski, near the rail road station. This valley is well wooded with maple and beech,






spruce and hemlock, and has many good mill privileges, all of which have long been a great temptation to lumber speculators; but many impediments at the entrance of the valley, which is narrow, prevented the making of a feasible road except with great expense, till nature, as if to help the feeble efforts of men, made a beginning.




It was about 7 o'clock P. M., on the 9th of July, 1852, the streams were exceedingly low, the day had been very warm, when a thunder shower came from the N. W. The dark clouds seemed to stand, or rather move backward and forward over this valley, firing bolts at each other, and pouring down upon the earth below such a flood of water, that in one hour's time, the giant hemlocks and spruces that stood on the banks of Joyner brook, were being torn up by the roots, and swept onward to the river. About 10 rods of the rail road was swept away and a fine farm known as the Stone place nearly ruined. But where was Mr. S. Stone and his housekeeper, when his house was thus surrounded by the roaring of the waters, the crashing of trees, and the rumbling of the great boulders as they dashed against each other in the darkness? Let him speak for himself. "The water" he said "had surrounded our house, and was rising rapidly. The first thing was to try to find our way to the hills; but we soon found the current so rapid, and the water so full of stones, that it was tearing the woman's dress to strips. We were obliged to go back toward the house, but it appeared that at the rate the water was rising that it would soon be carried away. So we had but one resort; and that was to climb one of the sycamore trees in the front yard. No sooner were we safe in the branches of the nearest tree, which stood in the corner of the fence, than the two blocks upon which we had stepped in order to get up the tree, were carried away. There in this old tree, we swung to and fro, with the night so dark that we saw nothing except an occasional glimpse of the tumultuous waters, in the flashes of the lightning, with trees and crags floating among the surges. It seemed that the old tree itself would soon be uptorn like many others, and we be carried away in the flood. But the old tree stood and in a few hours the water had fallen so that we could light on the ground. The cellar wall was carried away from one end of the house and a large heap of drift wood was smashed into the back kitchen. Still the old house was left with a plenty of sand on its floors, and dampness in its walls. I found my old jug," he added, "safe in the cupboard, and with it I spent the rest of the night."

It was remarked that the mill owners at Winooski falls, realized more than $1000 from the trees carried down in this shower. And the way that the banks and side hills were torn, and the way that the large rocks were piled one upon another, and tumbled about, is entirely beyond description. One large boulder that was estimated to weigh 100 tons was found lying on green limbs of trees. This shower opened the way for enterprising men to build roads and mills, and commence settlements in this valley.




The mountains rise abruptly on either side of the Winooski, in such a manner that the wind blows but two ways, the north and west winds coming up the stream, while the south and east winds always blow down stream. The consequences are that one will always find a steady breeze, drawing through this tunnel-like passage. This is all very pleasant in summer, but as soon as ever the cold weather sets seriously in, travelers are apt to make rather wry or unpleasant faces as the keen, cutting, protracted stream of wind which gives a pinching box to each ear, slaps them straight in the face, shakes every garment and passes on only to be succeeded by another gust, and for this rather desirable wind in the winter Bolton has had to bear many hard names.

The mountains, piled up on each other like a wall on either side of the river, are broken by ravines and gorges, with brooks dashing over the rocks, in many places similar to the canons of the Rocky mountains. One of these brooks called Duck brook, from wild ducks once making their nests in its bordering hemlocks, is the most famous for trout on account of the numerous cold springs bubbling down its banks; fishing poles strew nearly the whole of its length. This brook is about 4 miles long, and at the brink of the mountain wall, pours over the rocks, and passes almost perpendicularly through the gorge, where it foams and dashes till it strikes in the little valley more than 500 feet below. After this it winds leisurely a few rods to the river. Thousands of strings and baskets of trout have been taken from this brook. There are many other brooks, which empty into the Winooski on both sides






no less wild and romantic than the Duck. In passing through Bolton one is well reminded of the ravines and recesses of the Catskills, in one of whose hollows Rip Van Winkle fell asleep among the strange little fellows whom he found playing nine pins and drinking black strap; and who knows but there may be another Rip in the side canons of the Winooski, waiting only to be waked by some good natured sprite, to deliver tales of genii and mountain spirits for the illustration of the Green mountains for all time to come. But let him remain in his Lethean slumber until we have an Irving of Vermont ready to carol him upon his emerging upon the outer world again."




This town was chartered June 1, 1763, by George the Third, through Gov. Wentworth of New Hampshire, to Thomas Darling and 71 others. The original grant was 36 square miles. Oct. 27, 1794, the northeast part of Huntington was annexed:


Names of the Original Proprietors of the Town.

Bethnal Piersons, Benjamin Day, Daniel Warner, Esq., John Bunnel, Elisha Frazee, Thomas King, Thomas Day, Esq., Joseph Ward, Ezekiel Johnson, David Ward, Hon. Richard Wibberd, Nathaniel Bunnell, Isaac Tuttle, John McGilivir, Joseph Wingate, Thomas Treat, Crowell Wilkinson, Stephen Day, Nathaniel Cogswell, Thomas Darling, Henry Broadwell, Joel Osborn, Ebenezer Halbert, Benjamin Coe, Alexander Simpson, Peter Gilman, Alexander Carmichael, Patridge Thatcher, Stephen Here, Thomas Millage, Joseph Smith, Esq., Enoch Beach, Jacob Merrill, Benjamin and Geo. Bunnell, Timothy Day, Israel Ward, Josiah Broadwell, Ebenezer Coe, Daniel Tuttle, Philip Hatheway, Wm. Broadwell, Geverd, Elisha Wicks, Nathan Wilkinson, David Sampson, Richard Minthorn, William Darling, Samuel Averill, Seth Babbit, Daniel Cogswell, John Denning, Isaac Clark, Ephraim Hayward, Jonathan Wilkinson, John Johnson, George Day, Seth Crowell, Jr., Gilman Greeman, Samuel Hand, Paul Day, Wilber Clark, Thos. Osborn, Mathias Clark, Stephen Tuttle, Zebulon Giddings, Laurence Willson, Christopher Wood.


The first meeting of the grantees of the town of Bolton was held at Newark, in the province of New Jersey, May 10, 1770.

The first actual settlements were made immediately after the war of the Revolution. The precise time does not appear upon the town records; yet as near as can be ascertained from the oldest inhabitants, it is evident that some of the first settlers came from the Connecticut river valley as soon as the war closed. That there were no settlements in this vicinity at the time when Capt. John Barnet was killed, is clear, for when he passed down the river there was nothing but an Indian trail through the woods. In this trail he went as far as Richmond where he was shot by a party of tories, the account of which may be found in the history of that town.

It was, therefore, soon after the Revolution, that John and Robert Kennedy, Peter Dilse, a noted trapper, Amos Palmer, Noah Dewey, Augustus Levaque, Jabez Jones, Daniel Pineo, James Craig, John Preston, John Moore, Robert Stinson and Samuel Barnet settled in Bolton. Robert Kennedy was the first representative to the legislature, and Jabez Jones was the first clerk. John Moore was one of the first tavern keepers, in the days when Vermont hotels were built of logs, and bar-room, dining-room, and kitchen were all in one. Mr. Moore was a Yankee in every sense of the word; right from a question-asking land; of the old Connecticut stamp. When a traveler entered, it is said, he would raise his "specks," and commence: "How do you do, sir?" "Where are you from, sir? "Sit down, sir!" "Did you come from Connecticut, sir?" Then perhaps he would pay him a compliment and begin to administer to the wants of his inner and outward man. Amos Palmer, also, was a Yankee of this class, who would stand by the road side for hours, and when a traveler came along, which was not over often, he was sure to stop him, to inquire where he came from, where he was going to, what he was going for, and all his other affairs. The lonely traveler was glad of the chance to talk all of his business matters over, as he would to a confidential friend; and if he happened to be from Connecticut, he must stop over night, and be fed by the choice bits laid up for such occasions. They would sit till late at night, the family eagerly listening while Mr. Palmer and his guest were going back, to early days in old Connecticut; and, if the stranger could tell them of any of their relations there, if he was acquainted with them, then he was looked upon as being almost a relative and was ever after to consider himself a welcome guest.

The town was first regularly surveyed by John Johnson in 1800.








Although hundreds of bears have been killed in Bolton, and there are many bear stories connected with its history, yet, if we confine ourselves to the strict truth, there is no particular instance which will compare with some stories related for other towns, hence it will suffice us to say, that the bears were killed with clubs, guns, dogs; caught in box traps, dead falls, and steel traps; that the bears killed sheep according to their nature whenever they could catch them, and frightened a great many people whom they never hurt; broke into corn-fields, eat corn in the night, and climbed apple trees and stole apples. John Kennedy's oldest son, whose name was John, and who died in Duxbury, 1858, in his 86th year, had killed more bears than he was years old. Elijah Hinkson, who died in Bolton in December, 1860, in the 72d year of his age, Hon. S. B. Kennedy now living in Bolton in the 73d year of his age, Seth Stockwell and Isaiah Preston, were the most famous of the bear killers. No doubt the bears rejoice in their death or old age.




The building of the Vermont Central Rail Road through Bolton, was an event that is worthy of notice. The rocks were very hard to work, and therefore it required great expense to grade the road through this town. It was commenced in the spring of 1847, by making two temporary settlements of Irish, one containing 100, and the other 200 inhabitants. Suel Belknap contracted the building of the road from Montpelier to Burlington, and this portion was underlet to Barker and others. The work went on lively for two or three months, when discontent began to spread among the laborers, on account of not being paid for their work, and the "patch" was soon in a state of general insurrection after the fashion of the "ould country." The upper settlement was nicknamed Cork, and the lower, Dublin. They surrounded R. Jones's hotel day and night, and demanded their "pay" of Mr. Barker and others who were boarding there, or they would take their lives. Noisy Irishmen would mount one at a time on carts or barrels, and deliver furious specimens of "Irish eloquence" to the excited crowd; about "hard work," "want of provisions," "no money," "worse than highway robbery," "miserable vagabonds cheating poor honest men out of their pay." Then there would be a murmur of applause, and some would say " 'nd ye spake well." While the women ran to and fro with their wide cap borders fluttering, arms gesticulating, and tongues going like flutter wheels.


"Much was the noise, the clamor much

Of men, and boys and dogs."


Yes, and women too.

During the seige, Mr. Barker was kept in the hotel, expecting every moment to be killed by the furious mob. Mr. Belknap would not pay him his estimates, therefore Mr. Barker had no money with which to satisfy his men. At length the militia arrived from Burlington, and took some of the leaders prisoners, while others fled to the mountains. But a more powerful than the militia came, in the form of a Catholic priest, and they were soon all as calm as could be desired. The poor laborers were never paid, and the work was discontinued till 1849; when it began in March, and the cars commenced running in November. 17 Irishmen were accidentally killed while working on the road in this town.




Thomas Mitchell was invited from Waterbury by John Kennedy, to preach in this town. He was the first Methodist preacher who came to Bolton. Soon after this Lorenzo Dow preached in this place. The first church was dedicated A. D. 1800. It consists of a high rock, and may be seen by the traveler situated at the back of a level meadow about 40 rods from the railway, 1 miles east of Jonesville station. It is about 50 feet high, has a natural grotto, 3 regular stone steps, and a hollow, shaped like a boiler, which holds about 4 pail fulls, and is called the "Indian's kettle." This


" rock in the wilderness, welcomed our sires,"


and here was held the first Methodist quarterly meeting. The Rev. Shadrick Bostwick of Baltimore city, was presiding elder. Bishop Whatcoat was present. It will be remembered that there were but two bishops in the United States at that time. There was a large gathering on this occasion, and the society numbered about 76 members at that time. Bishop Redding preached his first sermon in Bolton at John Kennedy's house, A. D. 1800.




Rev. Roswell Mears and Rev. Samuel Webster were the first preachers. They came to Bolton before the Methodists, and both the Calvinist and Freewill Baptists formed societies in this town.












Was a soldier in the Revolution, and one of Washington's guards. After the war he left Newbury and settled in Bolton. He found the land covered with a heavy growth of timber, which could only be cleared with great difficulty, As in other towns at that time, the first thing to be done was to build a log cabin, and make a little clearing, where he could plant a patch of corn, and sow a few turnips. The next was a "plumping mill." This was made by selecting a large stump, and keeping a little fire on the top till it burned it out hollow like a mortar. A heavy plunger was then attached to a long spring pole, in such a manner that when the operator pulled it down upon the corn in the mortar, the spring pole would lift it out. In such mills the corn was prepared for bread. It is remarkable that they never pounded more than enough for one meal at a time; so the sound of the plumping mills were heard in the morning pounding corn for the breakfast cake, then at noon, and again it heralded the supper hour, and was musical to the pioneers, for the sound of these mills could be heard a long distance, and the settlers scattered here and there, found its echo among the hills, a more cheerful sound than the howling of wolves.

Soon after Mr. Barnet came to Bolton, the crops were cut off by the frost, and the sufferings of the settlers from hunger were great. They had to eke out their scanty supplies by digging roots, and boiling herbs, as well as by hunting and fishing. It was in this year that Amos Palmer took heads of rye as soon as they were filled, and dried them by the fire, and then he, with his wife and children, "rubbed it out in their hands," blowed away the chaff with their breath, and when they had got a peck Mr Palmer carried it on foot nine miles to Gov. Chittenden's mill (in Williston), and had it ground. He came home in the night, and had to stop three times to divide his peck of rye meal with his half-starved friends.

In 1814, the sound of the cannons at Plattsburgh were distinctly heard in Bolton, and as it resounded through the valley, it awoke the spirit of '76 in the breast of every man, Mr. Barnet was one of a large company that marched from Bolton as soon as they heard the sound, They were organized into a company by Capt. John Pineo, at the old stage house kept by James Whitcoomb; and being all ready at sunset, they marched all night, and took a sloop at Burlington the next morning, and sailed for Plattsburgh, Mr. Barnet, with others of the Revolutionary soldiers, formed a company called the Silver Greys. A song illustrating the language of the British retreating from Plattsburgh, was composed, and if the author did not live in Bolton, where did he live? The following is an extract:


"Old seventy-six has sallied forth.

On their crutches they do lean;

With their rifles leveled upon us,

And with their specks they take good aim.

There's no retreat to them my boys,

They'd rather die than run;

And sure as hell is hell,

We shall all be Burgoyn'd.

O, we've got too far from Canada,

Run, boys, run!"


When the battle was over, and the enemy had left Plattsburgh, as Mr. Barnet was about to take the boat to go home, he said in the language of one of old, "Now, Lord, lettest Thou Thy servant depart in peace, for mine eyes have seen Thy salvation." In four weeks from this time he died in the 68th year of his age.




A native of Massachusetts, was at the taking of Ticonderoga by Ethan Allen, and received $80 as his share of the prize taken from the British. He assisted when Crown Point was taken. After a serving a year in the army, where he was personally acquainted with Gen. Washington, he retired to his home in Newbury. At that time there was a great excitement about "going west," which was understood to indicate the Winooski valley and the eastern shore of Lake Champlain, Mr. Kennedy was among, the number that emigrated to this El Dorado. He purchased land in Waterbury; worked there during the summer and fall, harvested his corn, and put it in a crib, and then returned to his family in Newbury. He sold his farm in that place, and came with his family the next spring (probably the spring of 1786), but he found that his crib of corn had been stolen, and that there were adverse claims upon his land in Waterbury. His title proved to be worthless. Then he came to Bolton, and settled on the land where Hon. S. B. Kennedy, his son, now lives. Here he resided till his death, which was in 1820 in the 77th year of his age. He was a true patriot and consistent christian.




A native of France, was one of the first settlers in Bolton. He boarded at Mr. Levaque's tavern while clearing his land. It was one






day in June, not far from the year 1798, that he complained of headache, and kept his bed most of the day. He walked out in the afternoon, and was last seen going towards the mountain. He did not return, and the neighbors gathered the next day to search the woods for him. It was very difficult to find any trace of the lost man, but they finally discovered a trail in the dried leaves, and followed it to the brink of a precipice 400 feet high. The track was very near the edge, as if one went there in the dark without knowing the danger, then it went back from the cliff, but soon came around in a circle, and appeared to end at the edge of the rock. They found his lifeless body at the bottom of the precipice. It had stripped the limbs from one side of a spruce tree as he fell, and this retarded the force of so great a fall, in such a manner that he was not so badly bruised as he otherwise would have been. In memory of the man who met such a horrible fate, this precipice has ever since been called Bone mountain.




It has been said by wise men that "poets are born." Mr. Lewis was an illustration of this maxim. Without education, and almost isolated from the world by the wilderness with which the early settlers were surrounded, yet he spoke (he never used the pen) in rhyme as fluently as common people do in prose.

He was a Methodist, and almost invariably spoke at social meetings in verse. It seemed to require no special effort, and indeed if he commenced speaking in prose, he would naturally run into poetry, sometimes it would be blank verse, but more frequently rhyme, and in one instance he delivered more than twenty stanzas impromptu. As reporters were not present in those days when they held meetings in log school houses, this poetry could not be preserved. One verse is remembered by an old inhabitant. It is a part of an exhortation:


"May the south wind of thy sper-it,

O'er thy garden please to blow,

And revive these drooping flowers

That have been withered so."


On one occasion the meeting had been unusually dull, and Mr. Lewis arose and said:


"A solemn time it seems to be,

The Lord have massy on you and me:

Hold fast in faith, abide in Him,

He'll fill your vessels to the brim."


Rev. B. J. Kennedy was present at this meeting, and noted this stanza in his memorandum. Mr. Lewis was at the battle of Plattsburgh, and died in Bolton about the year 1835. He was one of those to whom Grey referred when he said:


"Chill penury repressed their noble rage.

And froze the genial current of the soul."




[We take the following sketch from the New York. Daily News, written by Gideon J. Tucker, Esq., May, 1857:]


Col. Stone, the veteran editor of the Plattsburgh Republican, is the oldest democratic editor in the state of New York the Dean of our professional faculty. We look upon him as a remnant of the times when there were giants in the political arena, for campaigns were fought and victories won by him and his cotemporaries when most of the present editors were unbreeched occupants of the nursery.

Col. Stone is a native of Bolton, Vt. It was in 1823, that he entered the office of the Burlington (Vt.) Sentinel, and we extract from the Plattsburgh Republican of Feb. 17, 1855, some of his interesting reminiscences and reflections upon looking back to that, his first departure from home, and entrance into busy life.

"More than 31 years have rolled by since we hung up, in that same Sentinel office, a little snuff colored jacket and brown cap, and standing upon an old type box, commenced 'learning the cases.' We remember the cap and jacket well, and we remember how our mother sat up several nights, after the other members of the family were in bed, to get that little brown suit ready by the day appointed for her boy to leave home and enter upon his long apprenticeship. The day arrived the suit was donned and, with a small bundle in our hand, we were ready to start for the 'stage house.' It was a sad day for the inmates of that dwelling the breaking up of the household. Alas! father and mother have long since passed to their rest, the house is in ruins, and none of our 'kith or kin' are upon the premises. But the 'Good bye, God bless you,' whispered in sorrowful tones by that mother, has never passed from our memory. We hear it often and often, as we sit alone, busy with the scenes and memories of the past; we hear it 'in the silence of night, in the hours of nervous watchfulness,' when we lie upon our bed thinking of 'the loved and lost,' and it will be with us forever."

The printer's boy remained almost ten years in the Sentinel office, and no more apt scholar, politically or professionally, ever






graduated from that stanch and true democratic establishment. After his six years' apprenticeship had expired he assumed the entire editorial, mechanical and financial management of the paper. He embarked actively and boldly in public life, and his popular manners early attracted a large circle of personal friends. Having an inclination in the military life, he rose from one commission in the militia to another, and before he left Vermont held the rank of division inspector.

Some time in 1832 or 1833, Col. Stone removed to Plattsburgh and purchased the Republican, which had been originally established by the Hon. Azariah C. Flagg (afterwards state comptroller, and now controller of the city of New York), in the year 1811. Col. Stone has printed, edited and owned the Republican for now about a quarter of the century, and is still in the vigor of life. His eye is not dim, nor his natural force abated; and woe be to the tyro in the profession who rashly couches the goose quill against him.

He has been chairman of the democratic town committee of Plattsburgh for 21 years, chairman of the county committee of Clinton county 18 years, and chairman of the congressional and senatorial district committees 11 years. In 1854, he became a member of the Soft state committee, and upon the union of the party in 1856, was made a member of the present state committee of the united party. It would be impossible to give a list of the various conventions, state, district and county, of which he has been a member in the course of the past 25 years. If we of a few years' experience in the editorial sanctum can boast of "having made and unmade great men," how many must there be who can trace their rise or fall to the old warrior of the Plattsburgh Republican.

* * * * * * * *

"Col. Stone, though a stranger to salaried offices, has not abandoned his early military ambition and propensities, since his sojourn in our state. For 17 years he was a brigade inspector, and he is now inspector of the fourth division of N. Y. state militia ...................... As a military man his repute keeps pace with that which he has won as a politician and an editor: and socially, morally and professionally he is esteemed by all who know him. No man stands higher in the affections of the democracy of northern New York."


[From the Burlington Sentinel of January, 1855, we add: "Col. Stone has held a commission in the militia, and done military duty ever since 1827. His first commission was given him in 1827, by Gov. Butler of this state, as Ensign in the 6th company 2d brigade, and 3d division of Vermont militia, commanded by Col. Steel of Hinesburgh, and Adjutant Dubois. He was commissioned by Gov. Crafts as lieutenant and captain, and by Gov. Palmer as division inspector."

From the Burlington Daily Times, Aug 1862: "Among the numerous visitors attendant on commencement, none was more prominent or quickly noticed. The colonel informs us that he has attended 38 commencements; the first being in 1822."

Col. Stone is the last of his family of the name of Stone. His parents (who came from Massachusetts) and brothers are buried in Bolton, over whose remains the colonel erected a monument in August last. Every office, civil and military, that he held in 1857, when Tucker wrote the biography, he holds now, in 1862. Ed.]




Delivered by Rev. B. J. Kennedy (a native of Bolton, and a member of the Erie Conference, Ohio) in 1845, at a British Wesleyan Methodist Missionary Meeting.


"That the impulses by which the Christian missionary is actuated, are of a divine character, there can be no doubt, when we take into consideration the fact of his taking his life as it were in one hand, and his Bible in the other, and voluntarily banishing himself, and that too for life from the scenes of "sweet home," native home the friends of his youth, the ties of kindred, nearest, dearest, sweetest and strongest, to take up his abode in some benighted corner of the earth, some far-off island in the watery waste, where only wild beasts and wilder men inhabit, with no other earthly motive than the dissemination of the truth 'as it is in Jesus,' the promulgation of the 'glorious gospel of the blessed God.'

"That holy mandate, 'go ye into all the world and preach the gospel to every creature,' is now being obeyed. The fatal torch is now being withheld from the funeral pile of the Hindoo, and the unhappy widow no longer suffers the death of a Pagan victim. The Red men of the American forest are exchanging the tomahawk for the word of God.

The war club and scalping knife are falling useless, and the more civilized implements of husbandry are being used in their stead, wherever the light of the blessed gospel is made to shine. However gratifying the ac‑






counts of the progress of Christianity among the heathen thus far may appear, yet much, yea, very much, remains to be done. The funeral fires have not all ceased to burn, the widow's shrieks and orphan's cries are not all hushed in Christian peace. Hence the harvest is truly great, and the laborers are comparatively few; and in order that the many dark abodes of heathen cruelty, ignorance, guilt, sin and degradation, may be blessed with the diffusion of Christian knowledge, and the promotion of virtue and piety increased, much is yet required of the Christian and the philanthropist to perform.

"Let us then, my friends, as a Christian people having the good of our fellow-men at heart, and under a deep sense of the duty due to them, to ourselves and to our God, come forward in the true spirit of charity and Christian generosity, and render that pecuniary aid which the 'giver of every good and perfect gift' has so generously, as his stewards, placed in our hands, to be expended for the diffusion of Christian knowledge and gospel truth in the land of the heathen."






Vile competition! how I hate thy name!

Thou 'st tumbled thousands from the tip of fame.

The poor unfortunates that lack for brain

Are strongly trammeled with thy galling chain.


You Gambriel roof a monument doth stand,

Of wild ambition's direful reckless hand.

That "firm" which once so boldly met the eye,

Low as the basement, "bottom up" doth lie.


No busy crowds are starting from thy doors,

Nor heaps of goods bestrew thy numerous floors. [ware,

The tur'ring wheel that raised the merchant's

Hangs on its axle, but revolves not there.


That iron "safe" which once was wedged with gold

Doth vacant stand and utter nothing hold.

The brilliant key once faithful to its trust,

For want of use now cover'd o'er with rust.


"Rust may corrupt," but "thieves cannot steal" here [to fear.

For where nought dwells there is for nought

The sun hath sunk dark clouds obscure the sight

Deserted warehouse, here 's to thee "Good night."