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man.

With all this he was an active trustee of Princeton,then in its beginnings; moderator of the General Assembly, and a distinct influence among the powerful men then forming the clergy of northern New Jersey. During the French and Indian Wars he served as chaplain while his people fought with the English. When at length the customary stealing of the Indian's lands was completed his charges were removed to western New York and Mass. he took a pastorate at Deerfield, Of the two, Dr. Field writes, "In their native place the saying was, 'Although not so great a son, John was as holy as his brother David."

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On the crest of the hill above the county jail buildings lies a pasture, the "old house lot," but little trace of the building is found from which the field is named. Here, from 1739 to 1746, dwelt, while pastor of the town, the Rev. Aaron Cleveland,ancestor of President Cleveland, and of Bishop Arthur Cleveland Coxe. The minister's enthusiastic belief in the methods of Whitfield. then causing much dissension, together with the effect on hist salary of the "sink in money," shortened his pastorate, though these difficulties did not prevent a second call to him a few years later.

When the old red house of the Rev. Eleazer May was torn down there was saved the painted panel above the "keeping room "mantel. It is a large board, presenting a spirited hunting scene. Red coated hunters on brown steeds prance over an expanse of green paint. Through the center of the field zigzags a blue stream, while in an unusual tree in the foreground sits a fat squirrel so large that the presence of horsemen for his capture is no anomaly. This is the remaining specimen of the work of Mistress Sybil Huntington, wife of Parson May. Their story runs somewhat on this fashion; Mr.

May in his romantic youth found little
paintings displayed for sale in some shop.
Falling in love with the works of art he
vowed his willingness to do the same to
the artist should he meet her. They met ;
the painting of the hunt decorated the
parsonage wall, and the painter laid aside
her brush to serve her husband and his
parish. This pastorate of forty-seven years,
the Revolution,
commencing before
streched into the next century. In it
what is known as the "old meeting house"
was built, and those industries were started
which brought to the town its greatest
prosperity.

The hills among which the settlement
lies are composed of gneiss, and from
1762 quarrying for the fine-grained blue
Deacon Ezra
stone has been carried on.
Brainerd, as his name comes down to us,
though he was the town's representative
in the Assembly almost as long as he was
church officer, opened the quarries on
Haddam Neck. For many years the
business made the hillsides noisy and
dotted the river with sail. Now one must
search for the "deacon's seat," the stone
where the old man was used to sit, over-
looking his home nearby, his work beneath
his feet, and far below the broad stream
and the distances of broken rising country.
He would hardly recognize the view of
which every line must have been learned
by heart in these sunset hours of watching.
The faces of ruthlessly opened stone beds
are covered by soft verdure; acres that
were grain fields and gardens are fast re-
turning to forest, and the growth of young
trees hides the long valley. One cannot
wander over the quiet roads without
rebelling that so few know aught of the
beauty held in the few steep miles of
Haddam Neck.

From the beginning the "Trayne Band" had held there, as throughout New England, a foremost place in the town

life. Jarrad Spencer, the wealthiest and most important of the settlers was probably the first leader mentioned in the records of 1675 as "Commissionated by the Councill to be their ensigne to command them according to lawe." The middle of the present century saw the death of the institution of the village militia, and with it went that festivity, still fresh in the memory of many who as children counted the weeks to its coming, the annual "general training." At the outbreak of the Revolution, however, these organizations were in full vigor and formed everywhere the starting points for the future army. On tiny scraps of yellowed paper are preserved the names enrolled in the militia companies, and the accounts of ammunition collected for each. So many balls, so much powder from one and another citizen read the old lists, giving an idea of the personal element that gave power to the public side in the marvelous contest. Among the names of high rank in the Revolutionary struggle stands one belonging to this village, Abram Tyler, Captain, Major, Lieutenant, Colonel. A plain white stone and the flag mark his grave in the old burying yard. Neither flag nor stone mark the graves of his followers from the village, yet on its Lexington Alarm list, headed by Col. Tyler, are the names of thirty-two of his townsmen, and though the records are imperfect it is known that Haddam men served on Long Island, at West Point and Rhode Island.

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In that charming corner of Higganum,

"The Landing," the business of shipbuilding had been carried on for several years before the war. There are legends of several vessels from these docks engaged in the struggle, but the "Harlequin" and the "Sampson," are mentioned in the list of privateers. The Sampson, manned largely from the town where it was built

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THE OLD CHESTNUT TREE.

made a gallant fight in the Sound against the British "Swallow." It paid for the victory later, when it was captured in the English Channel and one of those prison ships whose very mention sickens the heart, received, never to set free, the officers and crew. The village took that quiet share in the war that fell to the lot of

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its state, the giving of its children, the
storing of every resource to supply the
army with ammunition, clothing and food,
the waiting for news of far-away fighting.
any touch of the picturesque
But once did
or thrilling reach the secluded corner.
Close on the triumphant close of the
contest, American soldiers on their march
from Rhode Island to Yorktown passed
through the place. On what was then the
turnpike running through Shailerville,
stands, ragged and hollow and nearing its
fall, the great chestnut tree under which
they rested, and opposite, little marked
by the hundred years, is the farm house
whose owners added to the scanty soldier
fare.

Dr. Hezekiah Brainerd, a cousin of the

missionaries, and Corneius Higgins, whose
family dwelt in the now ruinous and well-
nigh forgotten hamlet of Zoah, voted
"aye" in the name of the town at the con-
vention for the adoption of the constitu-
tion of the United States. In the place
of the Plantation of Thirty Mile Island
was a thriving township of four villages
and outlying districts. With the hundreds
like it, it had borne its small share in the
forming of the new nation. It was now a
part of the republic, its inhabitants no
longer colonists, but citizens of the Ameri-
The experimental
can Commonwealth.
The days to which dis-
stage was over.
tance gives a touch of romance were ended.
The memory of those still living holds
almost all of that which was to follow.

TWO SONNETS.

BY BERT F. CASE.

I.
TO S. M.

As one that, wandering in the frosty night
On some lone quest beyond his little town,
His searching vain, looks up with sudden

fright

As other worlds in still mystery look down
And all his little toilsome path do drown
In the wide splendor of their quenchless
light,-

So in Life's narrowing path I hurried on
In eager quest, with weary, strained sight,
And found not what I sought, or only found
Despair in seeking, till my startled Heart
Turned and beheld the pure, eternal Love
Of thy young life forever circling round
With maiden prayers my path. I know

thou art

My Savior and my Saint thro One above.

1893.

II.

MY DREAM.

A dreaming child will sometimes start and

cry

"Papa, come back-O Papa, don't go'way!"
Because a floating cloud in Dreamland's sky
Hath hidden a star or two, or driven away
From his dear sight one little trembling ray
Of sweetest light. But clouds float by-
In Childhood's sky they but a moment
stay-

The dream runs gently on.-At midnight I
Did dream that She, the One I loved, had
died.

Heart broken cried I--"O,come back to me!"
No word, no look. "O God in Heaven," I

wept,

"My prayer, my prayer, it must not be denied.'

The morning came,

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-

-My Dream, God pity

Joy to his grave hath

ILLUSTRATED BY ELLSWORTH SPERRY.

AN OUTLOOK.

From the Summit of Roaring Brook, Cheshire, Conn.

M

BY E. W. ELLSWORTH.

AKE we this mountain top our
stand,

Till noon is past, and shadows grow;
How wide the skies, above, expand,
How deep the valley stoops below!
The heaven above us seems so near,
That we would utter to the air
A feeling near akin to prayer,
And build a tabernacle here.

These mountains, of an age unknown,
Still in their solid strength abide,
Like dial gnomons carved in stone,
Whose hours by centuries divide;
Those clouds, the children of the sun,
To briefer life arise and soar,
A thousand acres browning o'er,
But passing quickly one by one.

And level-off, so high in air,

Wheels yonder hawk in dizzy round;
And through the forest, everywhere,
Creeps up the wind with lulling sound.
From yonder glen, of ruined rocks,
Comes, swelling with a fitful call,
The laughter of a waterfall,
Which leaps among the fallen blocks.

Above us is the void of heaven,
Save by the trooping clouds untrod;
Before us, to our view is given

A teeming valley's checkered sod;
Beneath, a cliff all steep and stark,

Save trees that topple from its face, Of thunder storms the battle place, And branded with the lightning's mark.

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