of a well known river as that which we place in italics in the following paragraph: The middle river is named Connecticut, after the great Sachem to whom that part of the province through which it runs belonged. This vast river is 500 miles long, and four miles wide at its mouth: its channel, or inner banks, in general, half a mile wide. It takes its rise from the White Hills, in the north of New England, where also springs the river Kennebec. Above 500 rivulets, which issue from lakes, ponds, and drowned lands, fall into it; many of them are larger than the Thames at London. In March, when the rain and sun melt the snow and ice, each stream is overcharged, and kindly hastens to this great river, to overflow, fertilize, and preserve its trembling meadows. They lift up enormous cakes of ice, bursting from their frozen beds with threatening intentions of plowing up the frighted earth, and carry them rapidly down the falls, where they are dashed in pieces and rise in mist. Except at these falls, of which there are five, the first sixty miles from its mouth, the river is navigable throughout. In its northern parts are three great bendings, called cohosses, about 100 miles asunder. Two hundred miles from the Sound is a narrow of five yards only, formed by two shelving mountains of solid rock, whose tops intercept the clouds. Through this chasm are compelled to pass all the waters which in the time of the floods bury the northern country. At the upper cohos the river then spreads several miles wide, and for five or six weeks ships of war might sail over lands, that afterwards produce the greatest crops of hay and grain in all America. People who can bear the sight, the groans, the tremblings, and surly motion of water, trees, and ice, through this awful passage, view with astonishment one of the greatest phenomenons in nature. Here water is consolidated, without frost, by pressure, by swiftness, between the pinching, sturdy rocks, to such a degree of induration, that an iron crow floats smoothly down its current:-here iron, lead, and cork, have one common weight :-here, steady as time, and harder than marble, the stream passes irresistible, if not swift, as lightning:-the electric fire rends trees in pieces with no greater ease, than does this mighty water. The passage is about 400 yards in length, and of a zigzag form, with obtuse cor ners. or how can we accept for anything but a wag the narrator of this marvel at Windham: Windham resembles Rumford, and stands on Winnomantic river. Its meeting-house is elegant, and has a steeple, bell, and clock. Its court-house is scarcely to be looked upon as an ornament. The township forms four parishes, and is ten miles square. Strangers are very much terrified at the hideous noise made on summer evenings by the vast number of frogs in the brooks and ponds. There are about thirty different voices among them; some of which resemble the bellowing of a bull. The owls and whippoorwills complete the rough concert, which may be heard several miles. Persons accustomed to such serenades are not disturbed by them at their proper stations; but one night, in July, 1758, the frogs of an artificial pond, three miles square, and about five from Windham, finding the water dried up, left the place in a body, and marched, or rather hopped towards Winnomantic river. They were under the necessity of taking the road and going through the town, which they entered about midnight. The bull frogs were the leaders, and the pipers followed without number. They filled a road 40 yards wide for four miles in length, and were for several hours in passing through the town, unusually clamorous. The inhabitants were equally perplexed and frightened; some expected to find an army of French and Indians; others feared an earthquake, and dissolution of nature. The consternation was universal. Old and young, male and female, fled naked from their beds with worse shriekings than those of the frogs. The event was fatal to several women. The men, after a flight of half a mile, in which they met with many broken shins, finding no enemies in pursuit of them, made a halt, and summoned resolution enough to venture back to their wives and children; when they distinctly heard from the enemy's camp these words, Wight, Hilderken, Dier, Tete. This last they thought meant treaty; and plucking up courage, they sent a triumvirate to capitulate with the supposed French and Indians. These three men approached in their shirts, and begged to speak with the general; but it being dark, and no answer given, they were sorely agitated for some time betwixt hope and fear; at length, however, they discovered that the dreaded inimical army was an army of thirsty frogs, going to the river for a little water. Such an incursion was never known before nor since; and yet the people of Windham have been ridiculed for their timidity on this occasion. I verily believe an army under the Duke of Marlborough, would, under like circumstances, have acted no better than they did. His story of Old Put and the Wolf too has some variations from acknowledged versions: We read that David slew a lion and a bear, and afterwards that Saul trusted him to fight Goliath. In Pomfret lives Col. Israel Putnam, who slew a shebear and her two cubs with a billet of wood. The bravery of this action brought him into public notice: and, it seems, he is one of fortune's favorites. The story is as follows:-In 1754, a large she-bear came in the night from her den, which was three miles from Mr. Putnam's house, and took a sow out of a pen of his. The sow, by her squeaking, awoke Mr. Putnam, who hastily ran to the poor creature's relief; but before he could reach the pen, the bear had left it, and was trotting away with the sow in her mouth. Mr. Putnam took up a billet of wood, and followed the screamings of the sow, till he came to the foot of the mountain, where the den Dauntless he entered the horrid cavern; and, after walking and crawling upon his hands and knees for fifty yards, came to a roomy cell, where the bear met him with great fury. He saw nothing but the fire of her eyes; but that was sufficient for our hero: he accordingly directed his blow, which at once proved fatal to the bear and saved his own life at a most critical moment. Putnam then discovered and killed two cubs; and having, though in Egyptian darkness, dragged them and the dead sow, one by one, out of the cave, he went home, and calmly reported to his family what had happened. The neighbors declared, on viewing the place by torchlight, that his exploit exceeded those of Sampson or David. Soon afterwards the General Assembly appointed Mr. Putnam a Lieutenant in the Army marching against Canada. His courage and good conduct raised him to the rank of Captain the next year. The third year he was made a Major; and the fourth a Colonel. Putnam and Rogers were the heroes through the last war. Putnam was so hardy, at a time when the Indians had killed all his men, and completely hemmed him in upon a river, as to leap into a stream, which in a minute carried him down a stupendous fall, where no tree could pass without being torn in picces. The Indians reasonably concluded that Putnam, their terrible enemy, was dead, and made their report accordingly at Ticonderoga; but soon after, a scouting party found their sad mistake in a bloody rencontre. Some few that got off declared that Putnam was yet living, and that he was the first son of Hobbamockow, and therefore immortal. However, at length the Indians took this terrible warrior prisoner, and tied him to a tree; where he hung three days without food or drink. They did not attempt to kill him for fear of offending Hobbamockow; but they sold him to the French at a great price. The name of Putnam was more alarming to the Indians than cannon, and they never would fight him after his escape from the falls. He was afterwards redeemed by the English. The sketch of the manners of the country is amusing. Passing over some graver topics we light upon this picture of a courtship. An English gentleman, during a short residence in a certain town, had the good luck to receive some civilities from the Deacon, Minister, and Justice. The Deacon had a daughter, without beauty, but sensible and rich. The Briton (for that was the name he went by), having received a present from the West Indies, of some pine-apples and sweetmeats, sent his servant with part of it to the Deacon's daughter, to whom at the same time he addressed a complimentary note, begging Miss would accept the pine-apples and sweetmeats, and wishing he might be able to make her a better present. Miss, on reading the note, was greatly alarmed, and exclaimed "Mama! Mama! Mr. Briton has sent me a love-letter." The mother read the note, and shewed it to the Deacon; and, after due consideration, both agreed in pronouncing it a love-letter. The lawyer, justice, and parson, were then sent for, who in council weighed every word in the note, together with the golden temptation which the lady possessed, and were of opinion that the writer was in love, and that the note was a love-letter, but worded so carefully that the law could not punish Briton for attempting to court Miss without obtaining her parents' consent. The parson wrung his hands, rolled up his eyes, shrugged up his shoulders, groaned out his hypocritical grief, and said, "Deacon, I hope you do not blame me for having been the innocent cause of your knowing this imprudent and haughty Briton. There is something very odd in all the Britons; but I thought this man had some prudence and modesty: however, Deacon," putting his hand on his breast, and bowing with a pale, deceitful face, "I shall in future shun all the Britons, for they are all strange creatures." The lawyer and justice made their apologies, and were sorry that Briton did not consider the quality of the Deacon's daughter before he wrote his letter. Miss, all apprehension and tears, at finding no punishment could reach Briton in the course of law, cried out to her counsellors, "Who is Briton? Am I not the Deacon's daughter? What have I done that he should take such liberties with me? Is he not the natural son of some priest or foundling? Ought he not to be exposed for his assurance to the Deacon's daughter?" Her words took effect. The council voted that they would show their contempt of Briton by neglecting him for the time to come. On his return home, the parson, after many and great signs of surprise, informed his wife of the awful event which had happened by the imprudence of Briton. She VOL. I.-13 soon communicated the secret to her sister gossips, prudently cautioning them not to report it as from her. But, not content with that, the parson himself went among all his acquaintance, shaking his head and saying "O Sirs! have you heard of the strange conduct of friend Briton?-how he wrote a loveletter, and sent it with some pine-apples to the Deacon's daughter? My wife and I had a great friendship for Briton, but cannot see him any more." Thus the afflicted parson told this important tale to every one except Briton, who, from his ignorance of the story, conducted himself in his usual manner towards his supposed friends, though he observed they had a show of haste and business whenever he met with any of them. Happily for Briton, he depended not on the Deacon, Minister, or Colony, for his support. At last, a Scotchman heard of the evil tale, and generously told Briton of it, adding that the parson was supposed to be in a deep decline merely from the grief and fatigue he had endured in spreading it. Briton thanked the Scotchman, and called on the friendly parson to know the particulars of his offence. The parson, with sighs, bows, and solemn smirkings, answered, "Sir, the fact is, you wrote a love-letter to the Deacon's daughter, without asking her parents' consent, which has given great offence to that lady, and to all her acquaintance, of whom I and my wife have the honor to be reckoned a part." Briton kept his temper. "So then," said he, "I have offended you by my insolent note to the Deacon's daughter! I hope my sin is venial. Pray, Sir, have you seen my note?" "Yes," replied the parson, "to my grief and sorrow: I could not have thought you so imprudent, had I not seen and found the note to be your own writing." "How long have you known of this offence?" "Some months." 66 Why, Sir, did you not seasonably admonish me for this crime?". "I was so hurt and grieved, and my friendship so great, I could not bear to tell you." Mr. Briton then told the parson, that his friendship was so fine and subtle, it was invisible to an English eye; and that Gospel ministers in England did not prove their friendship by telling calumnious stories to everybody but the person concerned. "But I suppose," added he, "this is genuine New England friendship, and merits thanks more than a supple-jack!" The parson, with a leering look, sneaked away towards his wife; and Briton left the colony without any civil or ecclesiastical punishment, telling the Scotchman that the Deacon's daughter had money, and the parson faith without eyes, or he should never have been accused of making love to one who was naturally so great an enemy to Cupid. Of such or worse sort being the reception foreign settlers may expect from the inhabitants of Connecticut, it is no wonder that few or none choose to venture among them. As a satirical and humorous writer Peters certainly had his merits; and with all its nonsense there is some "sharpened sly inspection" in his pages. When the war was ended, Peters was chosen in 1794, bishop, by a convention of the Protestant Episcopal Church in Vermont, and accepted the office; but, on the ground that the act of Parliament limited the number of bishops for America, the Archbishop of Canterbury declined his consecration. Dr. Peters had gone so far, not only as to accept the proffered call, but to write an Episcopal letter, his pen armed with all the graces and dignity of St. Paul. He addresses his epistle "to the churches of Christ spread abroad in the State of Vermont, mercy, peace, and love be multiplied;" and goes on with an apostolic unction, the humor of which is irresistible when we consider Saint Paul, Dr. Peters, and that the writer was no bishop after all. He was only trying on the mitre. "Until I come," writes he, parodying the Apostle, "give attendance to reading, prayer, and faith. When present with you, by the grace of God, I will lead you through the wilderness of life, up to a world that knows no sorrow. I will guide you with mine eye, and feed your lambs and sheep, with bread more durable than the everlasting hills. While absent from you in body I am present with you in mind, thanking God always in every prayer of mine, and making request with joy for your fellowship in the gospel of his Son; that you may be of good cheer, and overcome a world yielding no content, the only wealth of man; and that you may know how to be abased, and how to abound; everywhere and in all things to be instructed to obey the laws of Christ. The spirit which heals all our infirmities, no doubt led you to glorify God in me, when you appointed the least of all saints to fill the highest station in the Church of Jesus Christ; duty and inclination (with feeble blood flowing in my veins) inspire my soul to seek and do you good in that sacred office to which you have invited me; being confident that you will receive me with all gladness, and hold me in reputation for the work of Christ, which brought me near to death, and shall finally make you my glory and my joy. ** Should my insufficiency in spiritual and scientific knowledge appear too manifest among you, my zeal and labors in the vineyard of the Lord shall, I trust, be your pride and boast: in this hope, and resting on the candor, order, morality, learning, piety, and religion of those over whom I am well chosen to preside, I shall with some degree of confidence undertake the charge, and claim the wisdom of the wise to enlighten my understanding, and the charity and prayers of all to remove any wants, and to lessen my manifold imperfections. ** Salute one another with faith and love."* Peters seems to have resided in England till 1805, when he returned to America. He published in New York, in 1807, his History of the Rev. Hugh Peters,t a book which is set forth as a vindication of the character of that parliamentary divine. The appendix contains some interesting notices of his own, and of some of the royalist families in America. The calculation of the rapid growth of the Peters family in the country is curious. As a specimen of his waggery and skill in telling a story we may quote his account of an interview between Ward, the simple cobbler of Agawam, and Cotton Mather. The Rev. Mr. Ward, being an eminent Puritan in England, disliked the spiritual and star-chamber courts under the control of the hierarchy of England; he fled to New England, and became minister of Agawam, an Indian village, making the west *The Churchman's Magazine, N. Y. June, 1807. Art. Supplement to American Episcopate. A History of the Rev. Hugh Peters, A.M., Arch-Intendant of the Prerogative Court of Doctors' Commons; member of the celebrated Assembly of Divines at the Savoy, Westminster; and Principal Chaplain to the Lord Protector and to the Lords and House of Commons, from the year 1640 to 1660. With an Appendix. By the Rev. Samuel Peters, LL.D. "Let us praise famous men, and our fathers who begat us: the Lord hath wrought great glory by them."-Eccles. xliv. New York: Printed for the Author. 1807. part of Springfield, in the State of Massachusetts. He was an exact scholar, a meek, benevolent, and charitable Christian. He used the Indians with justice and tenderness, and established one of the best towns on Connecticut river. He was free from hypocrisy, and stiff bigotry, which then domineered in New England, and which yet remain at Hadley and Northampton, not much to the credit of morality and piety. Mr. Ward had a large share of Hudibrastic wit, and much pleasantry with his gravity. This appears in his history of Agawam, wherein he satirized the prevailing superstition of the times; which did more good than Dr. Mather's book, entitled, Stilts for Dwarfs in Christ to Wade through the Mud, or his Magnalia, with his other twentyfour books. His posterity are many, and have done their part in the pulpit, in the field, and at the bar, in the six States of New England, and generally have followed the charitable temper of their venerable ancestor, and seldom fail to lash the avarice of the clergy, who are often recommending charity and hospitality to the needy stranger, and at the same time never follow their own advice to others. Mr. Ward, of Agawam, has left his children an example worthy of imitation. The story is thus related: Dr. Mather, of Boston, was constantly exhorting his hearers to entertain strangers, for by doing so they might entertain angels. But it was remarked, that Dr. Mather never entertained strangers, nor gave any relief to beggars. This report reached Mr. Ward, of Agawam, an intimate chum of the Doctor while at the university. Ward said he hoped it was not true; but resolved to discover the truth; therefore he set off for Boston on foot, one hundred and twenty miles, and arrived at the door of Dr. Mather on Saturday evening, when most people were in bed, and knocked at the door, which the maid opened. Ward said, "I come from the country, to hear good Dr. Mather preach to-morrow. I am hungry, and thirsty, without money, and I beg the good Doctor will give me relief and a bed in his house until the Sabbath is over." The maid replied, "The Doctor is in his study, it is Saturday night, the Sabbath is begun, we have no bed, or victuals, for ragged beggars," and shut the door upon him. Mr. Ward again made use of the knocker: the maid went to the Doctor, and told him there was a sturdy beggar beating the door, who insisted on coming in and staying there over the Sabbath. The Doctor said, "Tell him to depart, or a constable shall conduct him to a prison." The maid obeyed the Doctor's order; and Mr. Ward said, "I will not leave the door until I have seen the Doctor." This tumult roused the Doctor, with his black velvet cap on his head, and he came to the door and opened it, and said, "Thou country villain, how dare you knock thus at my door after the Sabbath has begun?" Mr. Ward replied, "Sir, I am a stranger, hungry and moneyless; pray take me in, until the holy Sabbath is past, so that I may hear one of your godly sermons." The Doctor said, "Vagrant, go thy way, and trouble me no more; I will not break the Sabbath by giving thee food and lodging," and then shut the door. The Doctor had scarcely reached his study, when Ward began to exercise the knocker with continued violence. Doctor, not highly pleased, returned to the door and said, "Wretched being, why dost thou trouble me thus? what wilt thou have?" Ward replied, "Entertainment in your house until Monday morning." The Doctor said, "You shall not, therefore go thy way." Mr. Ward replied, "Sir, as that point is settled, pray give me a sixpence or a shilling, and a piece of bread and meat." The Doctor The said, "I will give thee neither," and again shut the door. And then Mr. Ward thundered with the knocker of the door, and the Doctor returned in great wrath and said, "Thou art mad, or possessed with an evil spirit: what wilt thou have now?" Mr. Ward replied, “Since you, sir, will not give lodgings, nor money, nor food, nor drink to me, I pray for your advice; will you direct me to a stew?" The Doctor cried out, "Vagrant of all vagrants! the curse of God will fall on thee; thou art one of the non-elects. Dost thou, villain, suppose that I am acquainted with bad houses? What dost thou want at a stew?" Mr. Ward replied, "I am hungry, weary, thirsty, moneyless, and almost naked; and Solomon, the wisest king the Jews ever had, tells me and you, that a whore will bring a man to a morsel of bread at the last." Now Dr. Mather awoke from his reverend dream, and cried, "Tu es Wardonus vel Diabolus." Mr. Ward laughed, and the Doctor took him in and gave him all he wanted; and Mr. Ward preached for the Doctor next day, both morning and evening This event had its due effect on the Doctor ever after, and he kept the Shunamite's chamber, and became hospitable and charitable to all in want. It corrected the Doctor's temper to such a degree, that six months after, he ceased to pray more against the pope and conclave of Rome, and supplied the vacuum, by praying for the downfall of the red dragon at Morocco, Egypt, and Arabia, on the east side of the Red Sea, even at Mecca and Medina; words which helped the sand to pass through the hour-glass, the orthodox length of a prayer. It is, perhaps, not the best manners to apply chronology to an anecdote, but if we look at the facts of this case, it is rather unfortunate for good Dr. Peters that Ward died ten years before Cotton Mather, whom the story was probably intended to fit, was born; and if, to give the joke another chance, we carry it back to Increase Mather, Ward left New England when that quaint divine was but eight years old, and died three years before that elder Mather graduated. If we were disposed still further to go into particulars, we might remark that Ward's Agawam was not on the Connecticut; that he did not write a history of that place; that the cobbler was not remarkably free from bigotry; and that Dr. Mather's "Stilts for Dwarfs" is not to be found mentioned in any respectable bibliographical work. Dr. Peters made a journey to the West, to the Falls of St. Anthony, in prosecution of some land claims, in 1817. He died at New York, April 19, 1826, at the venerable age of 90. In conclusion, if he may be allowed to be his own eulogist, "he is reputed," says he of himself, "to have the faculties of his uncle Hugh, the zeal and courage of his grand-parent, General Thomas Harrison, mixed with the benevolence that characterized his great-grand-parent, William Peters, Esq., of 1634.' THOMAS GODFREY. THOMAS GODFREY was born in the city of Philadelphia, in the year 1736. His father, a glazier by trade, was an accomplished mathematician, and the inventor of the quadrant,* commonly known *Barlow, in his notices of the men of science in America in the eighth book of the Columbiad, pays this tribute to Godfrey: as Hadley's Quadrant. He died a few years after the birth of his son, who, after receiving "a common education in his mother tongue," was apprenticed to a watch-maker by his relatives. The pursuit was one contrary to his inclinations, which were bent on the study of painting, but he remained at the trade until 1758, when he obtained a lieutenant's commission in the Pennsylvania forces raised in that year for the expedition The Godfrey against Fort Du Quesne. On the disbanding of the troops he removed to Carolina, to accept a situation as a factor, which had been offered to him. Here he remained three years, during which he wrote his tragedy of The Prince of Parthia. He sent the manuscript on to a friend in Philadelphia, to be offered to the American company performing in that city in 1759, but it was never produced. On the death of his employer he returned to his native city, and, no opening offering there, sailed as a supercargo to the island of New Providence, returning from thence to North Carolina, where a few weeks after his arrival, by exposure to the sun on horseback, an exercise to which he was unaccustomed, he contracted a fever which put an end to his life after a week's illness, on the third of August, 1763. Godfrey, in addition to his tragedy, wrote a poem of five hundred lines, entitled, The Court of Fancy, modelled on Chaucer's House of Fame, a number of short poems on subjects of the day, a few pastorals in the style then in vogue, and a modernized version of a portion of Chaucer's Assembly of Fowles. Most of these appeared during his lifetime in the American Magazine, published in Philadelphia, from which a portion were copied with commendatory remarks in the London Monthly Review. His poetical writings were published in Philadelphia in 1767, with a biographical preface by N. Evans, in which he "bespeaks the candour of the public in behalf of the collection, as the first of the kind which the Province has produced." The volume also contains an anonymous critical analysis of the poems, written by Dr. William Smith.* The whole work forms a quarto volume of 224 pages. The Prince of Parthia was the first dramatic work written in America. It possesses much merit, with many marks of hasty composition, and want of mental maturity. The plot is drawn from an ancient story, and is well developed, though the fifth act presents the usual excess of bloodshed common to tragedies by youthful authors. The opening scene, descriptive of the triumphant return of the youthful hero, Arsaces, from a successful war, is one of the best in the play, but shows, like many subsequent pas sages, that the young dramatist had read Shakespeare. FROM THE PRINCE OF PARTHIA. Glad Ctes'phon Pours forth her numbers, like a rolling deluge, Gotazes. The spacious streets, which lead up to the temple, Are strew'd with flow'rs; each, with frantic joy, Thy matchless worth, and be a shining joy! The following lines are happily expressed :- Had given her order up to gen'ral ruin ; Fain would I cast this tiresome being off, Like an old garment worn to wretchedness. How sweet the eloquence of dying men! With a license to be matched nowhere out of Thomas Heywood and a few other early English dramatists, he has introduced, amidst his Persian scenes, a song to Phillis. Among his miscellanies is what may be called a patriotic version of the first Psalm. Its opening stanza is Blest is the man who never lent He also wrote A Pastoral to the Memory of General Wolfe, and an ambitious poem on Victory, which contains some forcible imagery. POESY-FROM THE COURT OF FANCY. Sweet Poesy was seen their steps behind, With golden tresses sporting in the wind; In careless plaits did her bright garments flow, SONG. Young Thyrsis with sighs often tells me his tale, And on each fair poplar hangs sonnets of love. Among the gay tribe that still flatter my pride, can, Since wealth and not manners, 'tis now makes the man. But should I fail here, and my hopes be all past, Thus Delia enliven'd the grove with her strain, A DITHYRAMBIC ON WINE. I. Come! let Mirth our hours employ, The rosy juice our bosom fires, See, great Bacchus now descending, Let Echo resound The joyful news all around. II. Fond Mortals come, if love perplex, If beauty's bloom thy fancy warms, Cloth'd in superior charms; More lovely than the blushing morn, When first the op'ning day Bedecks the thorn, And makes the meadows gay. See and adore; confess her all divine, The Queen of Love and Joy Heed not thy Chloe's scorn |