tances was taken from a guide-board, (or a kind of pilaster,) standing near the elegant hotel in the center of the place: 20 miles to Northampton; 3 to Deerfield; 7 to Bernardston; 9 to Coleraine; 40 to Springfield; 54 to Worcester; 20 to Brattleboro', Vt.; 118 to Haverhill; 66 to Hartford, Con.; 255 to Montreal, U. C.; and 88 miles to Boston. Population of the town, 1,840.

In 1837, there was in the town 1 woollen mill, 4 sets of machinery; 36,000 lbs. of cotton and 150,000 lbs. of wool were consumed, and 180,000 yards of satinet were manufactured, the value of which was $110,000; males employed, 26; females, 63; capital invested, $80,000. Merino sheep, 1,000; other kinds of sheep, 1,153; merino wool produced, 2,730 lbs.; other kinds of wool, 3,459 lbs.

This town during the Indian and French wars was made the theater for some of the horrors of Indian warfare. The fall fight, so called, took place near the eastern border of this town. (See account of Gill.) The most fatal part of the action to the English took place within the limits of this town. The following case of individual suffering deserves notice: it is extracted from Hoyt's Indian Wars.

Mr. Jonathan Wells, of Hatfield, one of the twenty who remained in the rear when Turner began his march from the falls, soon after mounting his horse received a shot in one of his thighs, which had previously been fractured and badly healed, and another shot wounded his horse. With much difficulty he kept his saddle, and, after several narrow escapes, joined the main body just at the time it separated into several parties, as has been related. Attaching himself to one that was making towards the swamp on the left, and perceiving the enemy in that direction, he altered his route, and joined another party flying in a different direction. Unable to keep up with the party, he was soon left alone, and not long after fell in with one Jones, who was also wounded. The woods being thick and the day cloudy, they soon got bewildered, and Wells lost his companion; and after wandering in various directions, accidentally struck Green river, and proceeding up the stream, arrived at a place, since called the country farms, in the northerly part of Greenfield. Passing the river, and attempting to ascend an abrupt hill, bordering the interval west, he fell from his horse exhausted. After lying senseless some time, he revived and found his faithful animal standing by him; making him fast to a tree, he again lay down to rest himself, but finding he should not be able to remount, he turned the horse loose, and making use of his gun as a crutch hobbled up the river, directly opposite to the course he ought to have taken. His progress was slow and painful, and being much annoyed by musquetoes, towards night he struck up a fire, which soon spread in all directions, and with some difficulty he avoided the flames. New fears now arose; the fire, he conjectured, might guide the Indians to the spot, and he should be sacrificed to their fury. Under these impressions he divested himself of his ammunition, that it might not fall into their handsbound up his thigh with a handkerchief, and staunched the blood, and composing himself as much as possible, soon fell into a sleep. Probably before this he had conjectured that he was pursuing a wrong course, for in a dream he imagined himself bewildered, and was impressed with the idea that he must turn down the stream to find his home. The rising of the sun the next morning convinced him that his sleeping impressions were correct-that he had travelled from, instead of towards Hatfield, and that he was then further from that place than the falls, where the action took place. He was now some distance up Green river, where the high lands closed down to the stream. Reversing his course, he at length regained the level interval in the upper part of Greenfield, and soon found a foot path which led him to the trail of his retreating comrades; this he pursued to Deerfield river, which, with much difficulty, he forded by the aid of his gun; ascending the bank, he laid himself down to rest, and being overcome with fatigue, he fell asleep; but soon awaking, he discovered an Indian making directly towards him, in a canoe. Unable to flee, and finding his situation desperate, he presented his gun, then wet and filled with sand and gravel, as if in the act of firing; the Indian, leaving his own gun, instantly leaped from his canoe

into the water, escaped to the opposite shore, and disappeared. Wells now conciuded he should be sacrificed by others, who he knew were but a small distance down the river; but determining if possible to elude them, he gained an adjacent swamp, and secreted himself under a pile of drift-wood. The Indians were soon heard in search of him, traversing the swamp in all directions, and passing over the drift-wood; but lying close, he fortunately avoided discovery, and after they had given up the search and left the place, he continued his painful march through Deerfield meadows. Hunger now began to prey upon him, and looking about he accidentally discovered the skele ton of a horse, from the bones of which he gathered some animal matter, which he eagerly devoured, and soon after found a few birds' eggs, and some decayed beans, which in some measure allayed the cravings of nature, and added to his strength. Passing the ruins of Deerfield at dusk, he arrived the next morning at Lathrop's battleground, at Bloody Brook, in the south part of Deerfield, where he found himself so exhausted that he concluded he must give up further efforts, lie down, and die. But after resting a short time and recollecting that he was within about eight miles of Hatfield, his resolution returned, and he resumed his march over pine woods, then smoking with a recent fire; here he found himself in great distress from a want of water to quench his thirst, and almost despaired of reaching his approximated home. But once more rousing himself, he continued his route, and about mid-day on Sunday reached Hatfield, to the inexpressible joy of his friends, who had supposed him dead. After a long confinement, Mr. Wells' wound was healed, and he lived to an advanced age, a worthy member of the town.

After the sacking of Deerfield, Rouville, the commander of the French and Indians, after the destruction of the town, after a march of about four miles, encamped in the meadows on the bank of the river. The second day's march was slow. At the upper part of Greenfield meadow it was necessary to pass Green river, a small stream, then open, in which Mrs. Williams, the wife of the Rev. John Williams, plunged under water, but, recovering herself, she with difficulty reached the shore, and continued her route. An abrupt hill was now to be surmounted, and Mr. Williams entreated his Indian master for leave to return and help forward his distressed wife; he was refused, and she left to struggle with difficulties beyond her power. Her cruel and bloody master, finding her a burthen, sunk his hatchet in her head, and left her dead at the foot of the hill. Her body was soon afterwards taken up and interred in the burial-ground in Deerfield.

On the twelfth of August, 1766, a party of Indians attacked five men at labor at a place called the Country farms, in the northerly part of Greenfield. The Indians had secreted themselves on an adjacent eminence, and observed the people deposit their arms before they commenced their labor, and by a cautious approach placed themselves between them and the men, and rushing furiously on, gave their fire; but it proved harmless. Destitute of the means of defence, the people fled in different directions; Shubal Atherton leaped into a ravine, among thick brush, where he was dis covered, shot, and scalped; Benjamin Hastings and John Graves, dashing through Green river, outstripped the Indians, and escaped; but Daniel Graves and Nathaniel Brooks were captured. The former being in years, and unable to travel with the speed of the Indians, was killed a small distance from the place of capture; Brooks was carried off, and never returned; whether he suffered the fate of his fellow-prisoner, is not known. A party of people from Greenfield village hurried on to the spot, and followed the trail of the enemy some distance, and were soon joined by Major Williams with a party from Deerfield, but the enemy eluded their pursuers.

The following is copied from a monument in the grave-yard in this place:--

Sacred to the memory of Thomas Chapman, Esq., a native of Barforth, in York shire, Great Britain; and many years a resident at Cossim-buzar, in the East Indies. He departed this transitory life May 25th, A. D. 1819, aged 73; and was a Gentleman

of inviolable integrity, of great urbanity of manners, and a generous example of good old English hospitality. He was also an affectionate Father, an indulgent husband, a zealous friend of the primitive church, and a sincere follower of Jesus Christ. Hence he lived beloved, and died lamented, by a large circle of friends and acquaintance, and the few sorrowing relatives who have erected this marble to perpetuate his remembrance.

HAWLEY.

THIS town was incorporated in 1792. It has an elevated situation on the Green mountain range, and is well watered by several branches of Deerfield river. Rev. Jonathan Grout, the first Congregational minister, was settled here in 1793; he died in 1835, aged 72. His successor was Rev. Tyler Thacher. No regular minister has yet been settled over the second parish. The names of some of the first settlers were Deacon Joseph Bangs, Adjutant Zebedee Wood, Daniel Burt, Samuel and Arthur Hitchcock, Timothy Baker, Reuben Cooley, Joseph Easton, Elisha Hunt, Abel Parker, Nathan West, Phineas Scott, Thomas King, Joseph Longley, William McIntire, and James Percival. Part of the north part of the town is named from Bozrah, Con., from which place some of the first settlers came.

Old Mr. Hale, one of the first settlers of this town, located himself about half a mile from the South Hawley post-office. He is described as being a very singular sort of a man. He was never married, but lived by himself: with his own hands he cleared up land and raised a considerable quantity of grain. He used to talk much to himself, and was very much harassed by the appearance of "spirits," which he said very much troubled him; he, however, like Fingal," showed fight" with his tormentors. He has been seen armed with a pitchfork, and to all appearance, as far as he was concerned, engaged in mortal combat with his enemies. He would violently thrust the fork into the air in various directions about him, furnishing a kind of representation of Fingal's celebrated contest with the spirit of Loda, thus described in CarricThura, a poem of Ossian:

"The flame was dim and distant; the moon hid her red face in the east. A blast came from the mountain; on its wings was the spirit of Loda. He came to his place in his terrors, and shook his dusky spear. His eyes appear like flames in his dark face; his voice is like distant thunder. Fingal advanced his spear in night, and raised his voice on high.

"Son of night, retire: call thy winds, and fly! Why dost thou come to my presence with thy shadowy arms? Do I fear thy gloomy form, spirit of dismal Loda? Weak is thy shield of clouds; feeble is that meteor thy sword! The blast rolls them together; and thou thyself art lost. Fly from my presence, son of night! call thy winds and fly!'

"Dost thou force me from my place?' replied the hollow voice. The people bend before me. I turn the battle in the field of the brave. I look on the nations, and they vanish; my nostrils pour the blast of death. I come abroad on the winds: the tempests are before my face. But my dwelling is calm, above the clouds; the fields of my rest are pleasant.'

"Dwell in thy pleasant fields,' said the king. Let Combal's son be forgot. Do my steps ascend from my hills into thy peaceful plains? Do I meet thee with a spear on thy cloud, spirit of dismal Loda? Why then dost thou frown on me? why shake